


Burn the Land and Boil the Sea

by nyxocity



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Action/Adventure, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, First Love, Frottage, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 53,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1795855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyxocity/pseuds/nyxocity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight years ago, Jared spent his entire summer on a tropical island off the coast of Mexico with Jensen. He fell head over heels for Jensen, but their lives were going separate directions at the end of the summer, and they never quite got together. Jensen left for Greenpeace and Jared went off to college—but he never truly got over Jensen. Now, in present day, Jared is a marine biologist working on a project in the gorgeous panhandle of Alaska. He’s amazed to discover the captain of the ship he’s chartered is none other than Jensen Ackles himself. Jared’s overjoyed, but Jensen is less than thrilled—he’s a changed man since that summer so long ago; withdrawn, passionless and solitary. Still something of the bond between them remains, and neither of them seem to be able to escape its pull completely. When Jared’s project leads them into danger and leaves them running and fighting for their lives, Jensen’s secrets begin to come out, drawing them back together—but can they survive long enough to figure out this thing between them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

** Burn the Land and Boil the Sea **

 

Some sailors need a ritual of some sort, and probably at least coffee in the morning before they can get underway, but Jensen’s never been one of those. He’s always ready to go the second his eyes open, but on a morning like this? Hell, he’s practically vibrating.

He steps onto the deck, clad in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, gray sweatshirt pulled on with long stretches of his arms, zipping it up the front and shaking out from shoulder to hips.

The water stretches out before him for what he knows is more than mile to the east before it meets the land with sudden finality. It’s nothing like the blue-green of the tropics; it’s a true blue, sky and ocean the same deep color between the reflections of the massive stone of mountains to the east, snow cresting along their peaks. Evergreens dot the base, scattering more thickly toward the shore, but they fade as Jensen raises his gaze higher, mountains stretching upward, pure, weathered rock that Jensen enjoys in its magnificence and simplicity.

So quiet, the sun barely above the horizon, glow faint but golden, rising to caress the mountaintops in the east; not a single cloud in the sky. Even on gray days, which come most of the time, this place has a kind of stillness, a timelessness that appeals to him, wrapping around his bones and pulling to the center of his core, settling in like peace.

He breathes the cool air deep into his lungs; internal thermometer telling him it’s about fifty-seven degrees, which means it’ll be somewhere in the low sixties by noon, which is perfect.

He casts Serenity off from the dock and starts the engine, feeling the familiar thrum through the deck beneath his feet rise up through his bones. Once clear of the marina he raises the mainsail and kills the engine. He takes the helm, settles his hands and turns the wheel, sailing into the steady wind and angling into the port tack, main sheet given slack, boom falling just far enough across the bow and ocean for the main sail to catch, filling with air and pointing them perfectly on course. Ketchikan isn’t far in the distance, low lying, scattered establishments along the way hugging the edge of the ocean, nestled so close down that Jensen can overlook them, focus solely on the mountaintops and the impending rise of the sun above them.

It’s a beautiful day, and his boat has been chartered for the next several weeks by some guy and his assistant with a grant to do marine research along the Alaskan panhandle. It had been a big check, for him, and he hadn’t squandered much, replacing engine parts and filling her with gas before doing his usual grocery shopping. Easy enough gig. Hell, one not-quite-tourist and company who’ll likely spend more time off the boat than on it sounds like cake compared to the squalling crowds he usually has to pick through, narrowing them down to six acceptable tourist passengers who can also pay his (by way of comparison to the major tourist lines) modest fees.

He smiles and brings her around onto the starboard tack at a leisurely pace.

He’s alone for the moment, he’s already been paid and he’s running early.

He runs a hand through the short spikes of his hair, knuckles pushing back the hood on his jacket, revealing his face to the oncoming sun, wind pushing up underneath his jaw.

 

*

 

He docks in Ketchikan in the slip appointed by his company, eyes wandering out across the early morning crowd as his fingers twist a familiar knot in the line, mooring Serenity to the dock. Normally, he’d wander out among them with a discerning eye, but this time all he has to do is wait. 

Simple enough, especially since he’s early and the coffeemaker downstairs has had time to wake up. He heads down to the common area, puts in a filter and fills it with ground coffee from a can. His client might want a cup of coffee, too, so he makes the full twelve cups rather than the usual ten he drinks, elbows pressed against the tiny space in front of coffee maker as he leans down, watches it percolate. 

As always, it takes longer than he wishes it would, so he moves around the small area, wiping down the couple of counters and the table, tosses the rag on the back of the sink and then does a last check of the cabins. There are only three, his being the one at the bow, the other two split in half at the aft, a single bunk above the double bed off to the starboard side. Everything’s in as perfect order as he left it, and he gets back to the coffee pot just in time to pour his first cup; no cream or sugar, perfectly black, the way he’d learned years ago to drink it on the run.

He’s just stepping up into the rare sunlight of an Alaskan June morning, feeling the warmth on his face, smiling into the aroma of coffee, when he sees someone waiting for him on the dock.

The guy he assumes is his client is tall—clearly taller than Jensen, which is saying something—must be six foot four, maybe six foot five, his long body cutting a silhouette against the sunlight in Jensen’s eyes.

“Morning,” he calls as he walks across the deck, coffee set aside on the railing, other hand shading across his eyes. He squints against the light, but he still can’t see anything until he’s almost right up on the guy, and then he’s focusing on the amount of luggage the guy is carrying, reaching out automatically to help. Anyone staying for a couple of weeks will need some help with their luggage, and well, they’re paying for Jensen to do what he loves anyway.

He reaches out to take the bag the guy is carrying in his left hand. “Here, let me help you with that.” His hand slides around the other man’s fingers, expecting to pull the suitcase away quickly, and then he looks up.

The guy has long hair, that’s the first thing that registers; hippie long, far past the neckline, edges almost touching the tops of his shoulders, and well, that’s not a huge surprise. If he had a nickel for every hippie marine biologist he’s seen here, he’d have at least two more dollars than he has right now. But then Jensen angles his face, sliding into the shadow of the man, and then he can see—

_Stay with me_

—the hazel eyes, the broad nose, that wide mouth grown full and lush, still so innocently pink; expressive face, brows drawn in a frown, furrowing in the center as he meets Jensen’s gaze. That familiar, expressive face, and it registers immediately.

Jensen’s fingers fall away from the other man’s, dropping to his side, and he can still feel the warmth where they touched, lingering on his skin.

He swallows hard against the acrid taste of coffee lingering in his throat, fingers clenching and unclenching into unconscious fists with no intent, spine stiffening as he straightens, and he takes a step backward, can’t help it, feels the gentle rocking of the boat beneath him, sensation so known, so familiar, and he moves with it, unable to think, unable to speak as he draws in a sudden breath.

Jared. 

“Hey, Jensen,” Jared’s voice is rough, raw with lack of sleep maybe—but it’s _his_ voice, though it’s deeper now, so impossibly deep.

Jawline widened—God, every part of him widened and broadened—but even here, observing him with the sun as a backlight, it’s so obviously Jared. His arms huge and muscular; chest stretching tight against his white, long-sleeved t-shirt, looser at the edges where it falls across his hips, khaki pants hugging the muscles of his thighs, half a dozen pockets lining the edges all the way down into his brown Dockers. Undershirt visible beneath his shirt against the tan of his skin, and he’s got a thin brown jacket thrown over one shoulder, clinging to it by the thumb and forefinger of one hand that’s holding a duffle bag in the other three fingers across his back. 

He looks like a Norse God with his long hair and massive physique, sun limning his form, glowing like a nimbus, and Jensen blinks, trying to reconcile this image with the image of the tall, gangly kid he used to know. 

“Jared?” It comes out as a question even though Jensen can’t deny the evidence—the very tall, very solid, very muscular evidence—right in front of him.

“It’s me,” Jared confirms, brows relaxing, corner of his mouth curving in the hint of a smile. “Been a long time. I wasn’t sure you’d remember.”

“God, how long has it been? Eight years?” Jensen asks, brain still playing catch up. 

“Yeah.”

_Memory out of place and out of time, warmth of white sand beaches and brilliantly clear blue water stretching out to the curve of the earth, cutting sharp against an equally clear blue sky above them._

Jensen swallows hard against the memory and finds the presence of mind to nod, still too surprised to form words. Jared’s here… and he doesn’t understand. The sensation of wonder he can feel surging through every single one of his nerves, singing along the edges like a knife blade, the way it doesn’t reflect in Jared’s face at all. 

Jared resonates with something completely different, something it takes Jensen a long moment to recognize as… hope? The realization vaguely surprises him all over again; that Jared could radiate hope, even couched as it is behind caution. It’s the lack of surprise in Jared, though, that sets off his deepest instincts, his darkest ones.

Jared should be as off-balance as Jensen feels. Unless he knew? Did he know before he came here? Did he come here to find Jensen? And if he did, how?

“How…” Jensen shifts his weight back and forth in time with Serenity’s motion and then narrows his eyes on Jared. “How did you find me?”

Jared huffs out a low, ironic laugh. “Accidentally. Needed an expert, inexpensive charter along the panhandle, contacted your company.” Jared hesitates as if searching for the right words, sun highlighting the crown of his head, turning the roots of his hair golden, nearly white at the base, but Jensen remembers the color he can’t quite see, hazel that changed like liquid between blue and brown, the way the sun had etched streaks of dirty blond through it, the way it had moved, flowing and contracting behind him like a jellyfish as he’d swum underwater, the way Jared had run his fingers through it as it dried in the light of the setting sun.

 _Accidentally_. The word finally registers for Jensen, clicking into place, clicking him into the now.

Jared shrugs as he finishes explaining, “I didn’t know you were the captain until after it was all set up and they sent me the details.”

Details, right. The devil’s always in the details.

It’s Jensen’s own fault for not checking the passenger list. He’d looked at the basics his contracting company had sent him; marine biologist and assistant, the route and calendar dates. The important things.

“Mind blowing, right?” Jared asks with another laugh, this one louder, more hearty, practically an invitation for Jensen to join in. “Who would’ve thought?”

There’s plenty Jensen could say, room for him to join in the laughter about the coincidence, space made especially for him where they could maybe join their past and present together and move forward. It isn’t that he doesn’t see the moment, he does. But this isn’t about that and he didn’t ask for this. There’s too much that happened then, and too much that happened in the time between then and now; too much Jensen isn’t willing to deal with on a beautiful morning like this when the job’s supposed to be as easy as this one. He pushes the moment, the memories, all of it, to the back of his mind with an effort, breathes in the morning air, and then lets his usual demeanor with customers slide into place. It takes longer than it normally does to settle in, but when it comes it fits like second skin, familiar and known, worn often and with care. 

He gives Jared another once over, eyeing his equipment. They’ve been standing here for a couple minutes now, sun rising higher and to the left, and he can see Jared more easily now, features just beginning to catch the edge of light. “So you’re the marine biologist?”

“Yeah,” Jared nods. 

Jensen knows he shouldn’t be surprised, but somehow, he still is.

Jared’s brow creases again, smile fading from his face as he takes in Jensen’s expression. “I kind of thought you’d be expecting me, actually. Sorry if I surprised you.”

The years haven’t changed Jared much; he’s still as innocent as Jensen remembers. His body has… well, grown to say the least. But the way he’s looking at Jensen right now, slightly deflated by the way Jensen’s looking back… Jensen can still see the boy beneath the surface; that forthright, earnest, eager boy who couldn’t hide his emotions if his life depended on it. 

Jensen nods in acknowledgement of Jared’s words and then changes the subject.

“I’m not here for reunions anyway. We’ve got a business arrangement—contracts signed, checks cashed, money spent,” Jensen says, brisk, and lifts his hands, rubbing the palms together in the cool breeze. 

Jared’s face goes very still, disappointment showing in his eyes. “Right,” he says and clears his throat. There’s a pause, and then he asks, “Permission to come aboard?”

“Granted. Welcome aboard,” Jensen continues, turning away so he doesn’t have to keep looking at Jared’s expression, heading toward the galley. “I’ll show you your quarters.”

“Excuse me,” a voice calls out from behind Jensen, carrying easily on the air. That would probably be Jared’s assistant.

“Misha, hey.” Jared’s voice is unmistakable as he responds.

There’s something in his tone—familiarity, sure, but also a note of happiness—that makes Jensen pause before he turns.

“I’m so glad I didn’t miss you,” the man who’s apparently named Misha says, long, nimble-looking fingers reaching out across the short space dividing him and Jared. He looks ridiculously short next to Jared, but almost anyone would. He’s probably five eleven or so, with spiky light brown hair and eyes deep blue enough to call cerulean without any romance novel exaggeration. Lithely muscled beneath his worn blue jeans and long sleeved white shirt, black short sleeved t-shirt worn on top, he has an easy way of moving about him; not quite graceful, but relaxed enough that he seems to sway even though he’s standing on the solid wood of the dock.

“Well, I was waiting,” Jared responds with a smile, shifting and dropping the bag and the jacket held in his right hand to the deck before he reaches out, clasping Misha’s fingers in his own. They both lean into the handshake, foreheads gravitating closer than would ever be strictly necessary for anything like shaking hands. They move apart, and Jared steps aboard, Misha stepping down onto the deck beside him, and Jensen bristles slightly at the uninvited presence on his boat.

“Couldn’t let you leave without seeing you one last time,” Misha says, quietly, like he’s trying to say it just to Jared, blue eyes sparkling with sincerity and charm and like he’s seen more of Jared than what he’s looking at right now.

Jared glances at Jensen out of the corner of his eye—the movement so brief Jensen could almost convince himself he didn’t see it. But he did see it. Jared knows he can hear them, likely this Misha person does, too, for all his pretending, because duh, Jensen’s all of ten feet away and the wind is blowing in his direction.

Jensen’s momentarily distracted from Jared and Misha as another man stops beside the boat. He’s got short-cropped, spiky dirty blond hair and a face that’s probably pretty when it’s not squeezed tight in an expression of disgust for what he’s seeing. He seems entirely comfortable in his broken-in jeans and short sleeved t-shirt with no extra padding for the cool morning air, heavy black bags held in both hands and another much larger one on his back. He’s got a cigarette clenched between his teeth as he surveys Jared and Misha, and then he spits it out on the dock, grinding it under the heel of one of his motorcycle boots.

The guy has luggage and clearly means to board Serenity. Jensen’s just about to say something when the guy sits down on the dock and unties his boots, glaring at Jensen the whole time as if Jensen had actually reprimanded him. He pulls them off, stuffs them into one of his bags along with his socks, then rises to his feet. That’s about all the etiquette the guy follows, though, because he jumps down onto the boat without asking permission, walking past Jared and Misha like they don’t exist, stopping in front of Jensen.

“So. You’re Jensen.” It’s not a question, and the way Chad looks him up and down has nothing to do with finding Jensen attractive and more about sizing him up for a potential future fight.

“And you are?” Jensen squints his eyes critically at the guy. Yeah, he’s attractive, but Jensen is two seconds from forcibly removing this guy from his boat based on his attitude alone.

“Chad. I’m Jared’s assistant.”

Jensen had thought Misha was the assistant, and even with as much attitude as he’s throwing off, Jensen finds he already likes Chad better than Misha. Which isn’t saying much.

“And his best friend,” Chad adds with a sharp smile.

Best friend… which means he probably—no, based on his expression, he _knows_ everything about Jensen and Jared’s history. Jensen suddenly likes him less—although he’s still not sure he likes him less than Misha. Which is actually saying something.

“Down the companionway to the right,” Jensen tells him, and Chad nods once with a look that says they’re going to have many, _many_ discussions later.

Chad goes below to the cabin, and Jensen returns his attention to Jared and Misha.

Misha has pulled out a map and a checklist on a yellow legal pad, and is in the thick of going over Jared’s itinerary and schedule in brief and making check marks in blue ink. “You know I’ll be there at every stop,” he promises. “But… I’m still worried about you… about this section,” Misha says, frowning at the paper before he looks up at Jared, circling something on the map. “The undercurrent is deadly there.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jared promises, reaching out, fingertips resting on Misha’s hand, stopping the motion of his pen. “You shouldn’t worry so much,” Jared adds, looking Misha in the eye with complete sincerity.

Jensen sighs and walks back to the rail with slow, heavy footsteps. “If you’re bringing along a third guest, the rate is tripled.”

“He’s just saying goodbye,” Jared replies.

“Give us a minute.” Misha’s tone is brief and dismissive as he flicks Jensen a bare glance. “Pretend you’ve got something to do.”

Jensen’s eyes narrow on him, corner of his mouth tilting upward in a half smile that’s nothing approaching amused. “I’m the captain of this boat, and I don’t have to pretend I’m doing anything besides obviously being impatient while I wait for you to finish whatever you’re doing. I have a schedule to keep.”

“Look, Popeye,” Misha says with barely restrained impatience, shooting Jensen an exasperated look. “Jared and I are talking about science, here. Go away and do your menial job.”

Jensen nods, then shrugs, affecting nonchalance as his mouth curves in a hard grin. “Sure. Yeah. You know, I just captain the boat... don't need to know anything about science or physics or math to do that."

The look Jared sends his way is priceless. Even from the edge of his vision, he can see the reluctant but amused grin, but he never takes his eyes from Misha, who continues to stare at him, unimpressed until Jensen shakes his head, grinning dangerously now.

“You’ve got sixty seconds, and then you either pay for quarters and travel time, or I ‘help’ you get the hell off my boat.”

“Fine,” Misha snaps. He flips the top pages of the legal pad down over what he’s written, giving Jensen a deliberate look.

Jensen backs up all of no steps while he waits.

Misha’s eyes shoot sparks in Jensen’s direction, but he doesn’t waste much time on it, looking to Jared almost immediately. “I wish I could go with you, but…”

“Yeah,” Jared nods, “I know.”

“But I’ll see you,” Misha assures, hand falling on Jared’s shoulder, fingers curling around the curve. “In every port I can.”

“See you there,” Jared agrees, smiling.

“I’ll be with you all the way,” Misha smiles back, squeezing Jared’s shoulder one last time before he lets go.

Misha pauses and gives Jared one last backward glance in the ten seconds he has left before he completely steps off the ship.

He _just_ makes it.

 

*

 

“You could’ve been a little nicer,” Jared remarks as he follows Jensen down into the galley, bag dragged down the steps behind him—thunk, thunk, thunk.

“He could have been less of an asshole,” Jensen returns, light, but level. 

“You didn’t even try.”

“Didn’t hear you trying to teach me the error of my ways,” Jensen replies, brisk and final as they enter the common area. He steps a bit to the left and opens the door to the aft port quarters. “This is all you,” he says, with an expansive motion of his arm, stepping back to let Jared pass by. “Got the whole area to yourself, head and all. I sleep under the bow, got my own head, so we’re on separate ends. We’ll have to share the galley, of course, but I mostly reheat my food, so I won’t be in your way much.”

Jared looks at him for a few long seconds, bags still in hand, hesitating before he enters.

“It’s not getting any bigger in there,” Jensen assures him in all seriousness.

Jared closes his eyes, briefly shaking his head. He opens them and then nods, biting at his lower lip as he looks at Jensen and then the room. “So we’re really not gonna talk about it?”

Jensen looks at him for a moment, head tilting back and forth as he considers. “He’s _your_ asshole boyfriend,” Jensen says, brows rising with a one shouldered shrug, face tilting toward it before he turns, beginning to walk away. 

“Seriously, Jensen?” Jared calls after him.

“Hey,” Jensen says, turning in a circle in mid-step so he can see Jared for a split second, sharp grin, arms falling out to his sides with the motion, “I say love whatever asshole you want,” turning back to his original path, calling back over his shoulder as he heads back up on deck, “as long as you don’t bring ’em on my boat.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jared calls more loudly, sound of his voice echoing through the galley, following Jensen out into the open air.

He actually says it like Jensen might not have known.

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

Jared sighs as Jensen’s feet disappear above decks, and considers the quarters in front of him for a moment before he gathers up his bags and moves them inside. He doesn’t know how to feel about any of this, everything that had seemed so clear now muddied and messy, and so he focuses on what he can do right now. 

It’s a small cabin, mostly taken up by the bed, which fills the back end, curving with the contour of the boat, but there’s some fairly creative use of space. There’s a small storage closet to his left, with shelves built into it, storage space beneath the bed behind wooden panels that pop free easily enough, and overhead storage above the end of the bed. He stows most of his equipment in the overhead space, some smaller instruments stored in the closet. He refolds his clothing as he takes it from another bag, stacking shirts and pants, socks and underwear and jackets on shelves. Running alongside the bed, there’s a wooden shelf built out with wood paneling on the short wall below it, and Jared plugs his laptop into the socket on the wall, laptop set on the widest part of the shelf.

He sits down on the edge of the bed and looks at what’s left in his backpack then; a few books for reading, some crossword puzzle books, pads of sticky notes, pens, permanent markers, and there, between two books, the blunted, tattered corner of an envelope peeking out. It’s not white anymore; more of a cream color after all this time, wrinkled and fraying along one edge.

A slow breath leaves his lungs, and he reaches down, thumb stroking the dull edge, paper worn to a texture like soft fur.

It’s difficult to reconcile this Jensen with the Jensen he’d thought he’d known. That Jensen had been somewhat reticent about his personal feelings, but he hadn’t been anything like this.

Jared had known the second he’d booked this charter that it was going to be interesting. He’d even thought it might be a bit difficult at first, seeing each other for the first time in so long. But he hadn’t expected _this_. He’d imagined it so many times in his head over the last few weeks, and no part of him had envisioned it like this. He’d even hoped maybe… But he really should have known better. It has been eight years, after all.

The boat engine starts, and Jared chews at his lower lip. Ketchikan is a place Jared had meant to leave in short order, eager to get out on the water, but when he feels the boat get under way, it feels too soon. He isn’t prepared in any sense of the word to be on board with Jensen. Earlier this morning, he’d been more than prepared, but now he can think of a thousand other places he’d rather be. But here they go, and here they are.

He hopes Chad got settled in okay. He has no intention of going to check or going on deck, needs time alone to decompress. He pulls a book of crossword puzzles from his backpack and a pen and sits back down against the bed, turning to the page he’d been on last, finding his place, scanning across the written words ‘clandestine’ and ‘conspiracy’ and ‘convergence’.

The person who designed this clearly has an affinity for ‘c’ words. And possibly a love of Dan Brown novels.

Four down, the thing that pops on New Year’s Eve. Easy enough. Cork.

Three across the “o”, one letter before, one behind; ‘something in water does this’. ‘Bob’ is the only thing that makes sense, and he fills in the letters with a quick, precise hand.

Ten letters down, following the “c” of ‘cork’; something that contradicts or confuses.

_Confounding_

He fills in the letters, not without a sense of irony.

_See also, this situation. See also, Jensen Ackles._

 

*

 

_The summer Jared turns nineteen is the summer between finishing high school and starting college, the summer he spends on a tiny island off the coast of Mexico. Money isn’t an object—his parents have plenty of money—but it’s not an extremely expensive vacation, and he stays in a modest place one block away from the ocean’s edge. It’s called The Sea Hawk and it has a kind of personality and home-y charm that Jared likes the look of a lot more than a soulless room in a chain of tourist hotels. He rents the “suite” on the top floor, which here means he has a king size bed, a dining table and full size fridge, a sink, dishes and a hot plate. Best of all, the rooms are situated over a dive shop also owned by the owners of the hotel._

_The shop is closed when he arrives, stepping out of a cab into the heat of the night air, thick with humidity, and Jared thinks if it’s this hot at night during the summer, the days must be incredibly more so. The shop is dark and open to the air but right now there’s a padlocked security gate across the front. There’s a guard posted at a separate smaller gate to the side stairs that Jared assumes lead up to the rooms. The guard is friendly and helpful, and tells Jared he’s been expecting him, handing off the room and gate key to Jared._

_Jared starts the air conditioner immediately, thinks about unpacking, and then lies down on the bed instead, exhausted from his trip._

_He heads down to the shop first thing in the morning, and the owners—a husband and wife team called Ariel and Bonnie respectively—greet him cheerfully, asking how he likes his room, how he likes the island so far, and he’s enjoying talking to them when he becomes aware of someone else walking into the shop._

_The person that walks in is possibly the most gorgeous man Jared’s ever laid eyes on. His skin is deeply tanned, hair damp, spiky and sun-bleached blond at the tips, eyes deep green, cheekbones high, jawline angled to a point, and all he’s wearing is a necklace with sharp teeth around his throat and a loose pair of wet yellow swimming trunks slung low on his hips. The musculature of his body is toned and perfect from the jut of his collarbone out across his pecs, down to the six-pack of his stomach, inner creases of his hips peeking up from the edge of his trunks. There’s wet sand clinging to his feet and he’s holding a string of several large fish in one hand and a long knife in the other. He looks almost like some kind of wild thing, like a Lost Boy from Peter Pan, and for a long moment all Jared can do is stare._

_“You had a good morning,” Ariel says to him, and the guy smiles in return, a dazzling flash that makes Jared’s heart skip a beat._

_“I had one more,” he replies, his voice deeper than Jared would have guessed. “Spear tore a hole in the net and I lost it on the swim back up before I realized.”_

_He killed them with a spear? While deep under water?_

_Bonnie has walked around the corner, to the outside of the shop, and she grabs two small barrels and a wide plank of wood, setting up a makeshift table on the sidewalk just to the left of the store._

_“Where’s Carlos?” she asks._

_“Loading up the equipment from the boat. He should be here with the mule soon,” the guy replies, walking over the table and setting down the knife. He hangs the string of fish on something just beyond Jared’s line of vision, around the corner, Jared watching the way his shoulder muscles flex in the morning sunlight._

_“Who’s your friend?” the guy asks, loud enough for Jared to hear._

_“This is Jared,” Bonnie says, motioning at Jared and smiling at him. “He’s going to be staying with us this summer. He wants to learn how to fish, sail and dive.”_

_The guy eyes Jared like he’s sizing him up, and then he walks over to him, wet swimming trunks leaving tiny droplets behind on the concrete floor._

_“I’m Jensen,” the guys says, holding out his hand and smiling. It takes Jared a couple of seconds to realize he’s supposed to shake it. Jensen’s fingers are rough and callused, worn and well-used, and his grip is strong as Jared takes it. “And we’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”_

_Jared doesn’t know how to respond to that, racks his brain for something and blurts out the first thing that arrives on his tongue. “Why do you put the boat equipment on a mule?”_

_Jensen squints at him in mild confusion, still holding on to Jared’s hand._

_“I mean,” Jared clears his throat, “we’re not exactly in the mountains.”_

_Jensen squints at him for a few seconds longer, and then he bursts into laughter, letting go of Jared’s hand. The way his face lights up transfixes Jared for an instant, and it’s a nice sound, a great sound, but even though he’s sure Jensen’s only a few years older than Jared, it makes Jared feel like a silly little kid._

_“No,” Jensen says, still chuckling as he shakes his head. “Not an actual mule—a motorized transport with a big open bed.”_

_“Oh,” Jared says, feeling younger by the minute. “That makes more sense,” he adds._

_“Well, that’s why I’m here.” Jensen shrugs, amused. “To teach you.”_

_He’s so warm; so unassuming. Jared blinks, taking that in. “You’re a teacher?”_

_Jensen claps him on the shoulder, and pulls him forward a couple steps, turning so he can move alongside Jared, and slides a companionable arm around his shoulders as they walk toward the makeshift table. Jared can smell the ocean on him, salty and mixed with the faint scent of sweat and sun tan oil, feel sun-warmed skin everywhere he’s touching Jared through his thin t-shirt._

_“Tell me, Jared,” Jensen says, giving him a playful grin. “You ever gutted a fish before?”_

 

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

Jensen gets straight to his job, starts the engine, feeling the hum of it all through him as he casts off from the dock. Hands on the wheel, so known and familiar, palms fitting to the metal, wind blowing through the short spikes of his hair, and for a moment, this is all that exists. It’s just him and Serenity, the sea and the mountains and the sun, the rest of the world a backdrop in someone else’s play.

The mountains here are raw and honest, without apology, rising into ragged peaks, white of snow spilling down their sides. These rocky faces have seen so much, the passing of centuries, their surface touched by time and elements but always present. They’ll watch him come and go for the next twenty, thirty, forty years, impassive, unmoved and barely changed.

He won’t go on forever, but this place will go on thousands of years, millions maybe, after he’s gone.

Jensen’s not much on the past or the future where he’s personally concerned; he’s grown to love the immediacy of the now, the unpredictable moment to moment, not much thought given to anything except survival. But the thought of these mountains, these waters being here thousands of years in the future brings him a kind of comfort he doesn’t have the words to explain.

The kind of comfort that what’s waiting for him below deck severely damages.

He bites down against the upper corner of his lip, point of his lower incisor catching the outside, upper incisor holding it in place from the inside.

Jared. Jared, whose personality is apparently as constant and barely changed as the mountains on either side of Jensen.

He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t thought about Jared often over the years, but he’d also be lying if he said he ever expected to see Jared again.

Thirty-one years alive, and becoming a glorified taxi driver on the Alaskan tourist route was the last thing he’d expected to do for a living. But as livings go, it works. He’s used to it now; the predictability of it, the ease.

This situation is about five counties over from either of those things.

But then, things with Jared were rarely ever predictable.

_“I wasn’t sure you’d remember.”_

Like Jensen could forget.

 

*

 

_After cleaning the fish, Jensen takes Jared down to the beach to show him the joys of snorkeling on the north point. It’s without a doubt the best place to snorkel on the island, by far the most beautiful and peaceful, and Jared is so delighted, so enraptured by all the different kinds of fish, that they spend the entirety of the day there—though Jensen does insist on stopping for sun tan lotion re-application breaks. He can take it, mostly, but as brown as he is—as brown as he’s ever going to be—he’s not brown by nature, and Jared’s skin isn’t even close to being used to this level of sun._

_Jared also isn’t used to the number of females in bikini’s who approach him for a variety of reasons any time he takes a break. Jared’s new here and thus a bit of a commodity on such a small island. But Jensen works out pretty quickly from the way Jared looks all of the women in the eye without a trace of any attraction, the way they sigh and shake their heads when he walks away, that he doesn’t seem interested. Still, that could be the matter of the right woman. Maybe Jared’s picky, nothing wrong with that._

_Jensen thinks that right up until the moment he straightens Jared’s snorkeling mask across the bridge of his nose, cautioning Jared to make sure he applied sun tan lotion underneath—and sees the way Jared’s looking down at him. It’s only a few, scant seconds before Jared catches himself and looks away, but it’s not soon enough._

_He finishes settling the mask onto Jared’s face, and then dons his own snorkeling mask with a rise of his brows. Jared returns the questioning look with a laugh, and they’re back out in the water without another word._

_They head back to the shop in the evening, Jared faintly pink despite Jensen’s best efforts, and Ariel invites both of them to dinner on the ground level, private courtyard separating the two buildings. Ariel is cooking one of the fish Jensen had caught earlier, and Bonnie and Carlos and Sierra are all there, too, Sierra turning vegetables on a grill separate from the one Ariel is using._

_They sit at the wooden picnic table in the middle of the small courtyard and strip away chunks of flesh from the whole fish, spooning vegetables onto their plates from the large plate Sierra fills up._

_Jensen’s been here a while, he’s used to the sense of family these people radiate even though none of them are related, the warmth and humor of them, but they’re particular about who they welcome. That they invite Jared on his first day here…_

_Although, many hours and a few beers later, Jensen supposes he has to admit that Jared’s incredibly easy to like. He does end up inviting Jared back to his place, after all._

_It’s nearing midnight as they turn the corner of the aqua blue building, Jensen pushing the key into the lock, turning it and throwing the door open._

_“This is your place?” Jared asks he steps inside the room. It’s not a big room, located on the backside of The Sea Hawk’s connected buildings, and it probably used to be a large storage closet once upon a time before they fixed it up for the hired help. It’s smaller than most of the suites upstairs, the ceiling a bit lower, but it’s just as well outfitted with the necessities._

_“Home sweet home,” Jensen agrees with a sweeping motion of his hands as he steps past Jared. He doesn’t waste any time heading to the mini-fridge after the initial presentation, bending down and grabbing the necks of two beer bottles one-handed._

_He turns and stands, still holding on to them as he eyes Jared, thoughtful. “Are you even old enough to drink beer?”_

_“In Mexico I am,” Jared replies without hesitation, and Jensen thinks he can hear Jared smile even though Jared’s back is turned to him._

_“How old are you?” Jensen asks, turning back to the kitchen, and opening a drawer. He’s maybe already had a beer or two or three with Ariel, and he fishes around for a moment before he comes out with a bottle opener._

_“Nineteen. You?”_

_Nineteen. Not as young as Jensen had thought._

_“Twenty-three,” Jensen replies, popping the top from the first bottle. It seems like the kind of conversation they should have had earlier, except that they’d been far too busy with other things; Jared with his wonder for the myriad colors of fish, Ariel with his many, many stories he hadn’t yet told Jared._

_“Did you collect these?” Jared asks after Jensen has popped the second bottle open, and Jensen turns._

_There are so many trinkets and treasures from the sea lining the walls and the shelves, from dull shells to shark’s teeth to polished glass, coral formations patterned with intricate lines that make them look like brains to plain coral smoothed like rocks, pitted with time, to a collection of battered conch shells bleached nearly white by the sun that Jensen isn’t sure what he means. All of those things and more, or maybe the bookshelf sitting slightly askew in the corner, crammed full of old books with subjects ranging from marine life to seamanship to tying decorative knots. Or maybe the various knot work he’s done that hangs tacked to the ceiling, some of it simple netting and intricate knots, some of it shaped into butterflies and dragonflies and other magnificent shapes._

_“Everything on the walls?” Jensen asks. “Yeah.”_

_Jared looks up at the ceiling then, and inhales sharply. “And that?”_

_“All done by hand.” Jensen steps up beside him, pressing a bottle against the back of Jared’s hand._

_Jared takes it, still looking at the rope work on the ceiling. “It’s gorgeous.” His eyes follow the knots and loops and whorls of rope for a while, and then descend again to the walls around him. “All of it is gorgeous. This kind of collection… how long have you been collecting?_

_“Most of my life.”_

_Jared hesitates a moment and then asks, more softly, “How long have you loved the ocean?”_

_Jensen’s tongue pushes out from between his lips, upper lip closing over it, pulling it back as he considers. “My whole life.”_

_“Yeah,” Jared nods, biting down against his lower lip and chewing for a moment. “Me, too.” So pensive, so caught in thought, so much older than his nineteen years in this moment. “I wish I could have found this much,” Jared goes on, still absorbed in thought. “Brought it back with me, surrounded myself with it. It just… it feels **right**. Comfortable. Like somewhere I want to be.” That’s enough to make Jensen look at him hard, even though Jared isn’t looking at him at all, enraptured by everything on the walls. “Every piece with a memory all its own. Every single piece with an individual meaning. ” Jared shakes his head once, hair following the movement. “I’m so _incredibly_ jealous.”_

_And this is more than someone sharing Jensen’s love of the ocean, more than a shared interest in something. This is someone looking at everything he’s accumulated through love and toil over the years of his life and understanding **why**. Why he sought it out, why he brought it back with him, why it’s adorning his walls right now._

_It’s something Jensen usually only thinks about in abstract terms, so used to his surroundings here, only occasionally considering the meaning they actually hold, the reasons he gave them places of honor in the first place. The very fact that he feels so comfortable here… this is why._

_Jared feels right and comfortable here, too, which seems strange, but maybe isn’t so strange—he’d invited Jared back here after all, and he almost never does that._

_Tall and gangly, not without muscle, yet still skinny and wiry, skin bright pink along his shoulders, and after a single day, Jensen’s learned he’s straight up gorgeous if you look him full on in the face when he smiles, or if you catch him looking at something he thinks is beautiful and he doesn’t think you see him._

_Jensen thinks maybe he’s seeing him a bit too well right now._

_Nineteen. Young and beautiful, wise beyond his years, and Jensen wonders if he’s ever been with another guy. If Jared were older, less innocent, Jensen thinks he wouldn’t care that his own future is set in stone. He’d turn, catch Jared with his fingertips by the line of Jared’s jaw, tilt him downward, kiss the swell of his lower lip, let that moment lead them wherever it might._

_But Jared isn’t, and so Jensen takes a deep breath, takes another drink from his bottle and pushes his thoughts in a different direction._

_They’re friends. Or, they **will** be friends if they’re not already, Jensen is sure of that much._

_“Is there anything in particular you want to know about it?” Jensen asks after a moment._

_Jared takes a sip from his beer, still considering the walls, and then he turns to Jensen, eyes alight. “Where did it all come from? I want to know every story. There aren’t any sharks here, and I haven’t seen any polished glass, and your _books_. And there’s a real compass rose. Can you teach me to do knot work like that?” The words leave Jared in a rush and Jensen can’t help but laugh. _

_“All right, one question at a time,” he replies. “Come on, let’s sit down.”_

_They sit on the double bed because there’s nowhere else to sit, and Jared lounges back sideways across the foot while Jensen positions his back against the cheap wooden headboard, legs hanging down off the side of the bed. Better that way, easier that way, and he and Jared talk until well past 4am about where Jensen acquired each and every object in the room, Jensen telling stories until Jared finally sinks down against the mattress, eyes closing completely._

_Jensen has the presence of mind to pluck the beer bottle from between Jared’s fingers and set it on the night table beside him, and then folds his arms across his chest, still half-sitting up against the headboard, eyes fixated on Jared’s sleeping face for a long time before he finally falls asleep._


	2. Chapter 2

 

Jared rouses from sleep, rising from his lap as he wakes, stretching forward and downward, stretching his back muscles. It’s been at least a couple hours since he checked in, if the stiffness of his body is anything to go by.

His fingers curl around the book of crossword puzzle book still perched on his knees, sitting up and setting it up on the shelf next to his laptop, pen dropped alongside. They’re powering forward on engines through rough waves, slow bounce and light slam, and he’s not used to the sensation yet.

 

*

 

_The boat slams and bounces against the short, choppy waves of the sea, whole, tiny length of it thrumming with the power of the engine, waves splashing up and inside with the kind of force that makes Jared look sideways at Jensen. The whole deck of the boat is wet and they have to be going sixty or seventy miles per hour._

_“We’re fine,” Jensen assures him, reaching out and taking Jared’s hand before he smiles. “I’ve done a lot of dive runs with Carlos. He always does this when the water’s choppy, and we’re always fine.”_

_Jensen squeezes Jared’s hand and then lets go. Jared sits there for a long time, trying to reconcile the feeling of Jensen no longer touching him against the way he’d felt so comforted when Jensen had._

 

*

 

Jared blinks hard against the memory and gets to his feet, staggering slightly with the motion of the boat before he feels her, patches into her rhythm. 

It’s been a while since he’s been on an actual boat, but it comes back to him like riding a bike. Pitch and cast of him, slowly righting, following her and finding his center of gravity.

 _She’ll try and throw you if you don’t fit._

Once he’s steady, he makes his way out the door and finding the main cabin area empty, he turns, heading up on deck.

Jensen’s at the helm and Chad’s nowhere to be seen, skies above and around them slate gray in stark contrast to the blue, sunny skies where they’d started out. But there doesn’t seem to be a storm brewing; just rough water and choppy waves.

Jensen’s rubbing the knuckle of his forefinger across his lips, other hand holding the wheel when his eyes glance to the side, see Jared emerging. 

“You get settled in okay?”

It could be a question laced with real concern, but coming from Jensen, it’s a simple, casual question of a boat captain to his passengers. 

“Yeah,” Jared answers, because he had settled in-- _mostly_ okay—but that’s not really the point. The thing is, he really isn’t sure how to get to the point, because he isn’t entirely sure what the point is yet.

Everything around them is beautiful; choppy gray-blue water, gray skies a perfect complement to the snow-capped peaks of the majestic stone mountains. Jensen is beautiful too; maybe even more than he was when Jared first met him, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes digging in a bit deeper as he squints intently at their route, the bit of stubble peppering his perfect jaw line that says he didn’t take time to shave this morning—or maybe he just shaves it close like that every morning, because damn, it _does_ make him look even hotter. 

Eight years older, both of them, and he doesn’t know where to begin. Wishes for the ease of when they’d first met.

Jared lowers his eyes to the rail, tries to focus his thoughts on the moment, giving a slight shake of his head, and decides to get right down to it. “Look, this isn’t my idea of a perfect reunion, either.”

He’s got a lot of thoughts on the reasons why it’s not a perfect reunion for either of them, and maybe if he can just say them out loud, articulate them—

“Don’t go getting all sentimental on me now.” Jensen smirks, tilting his head to the side. “I might cry.”

Jared just stares at him for a long moment, trying to process his tone of voice. “Jensen…” His name is all Jared can think to say, a recrimination and an invitation all at once. This isn’t the Jensen he knows, the Jensen he remembers. He doesn’t… understand this _person_ , wearing Jensen’s face.

Jensen folds his lips together in a tight line and nods once, looking out at the water. “What?” he asks after a moment. “Should we do the usual reunion things?” His tone brightens a notch along the spectrum of sarcasm, “Like, what have you been doing for the last eight years? Oh, you have a doctorate in marine biology? How was college?”

The words are sharp, cutting, and Jared doesn’t understand why they should be. 

“Am I asking the wrong questions?” Jensen asks with an air of sarcasm so deliberate and light it’s almost a kind of zen.

Jared lifts his hands, backs of them presented to Jensen, still unable to articulate what it is that he feels as they fall back to his sides. The words, when they come, are unplanned, blurted out like the first words he’d said to Jensen so long ago.

“Are there any wrong questions after eight years? Fuck, Jensen.” Jared tilts his head, really looking at him, wind whipping strands of hair against his face. “How are you? How have you been?” There are so many questions, millions after all this time, but Jared’s only got one other one burning as bright in his gut right now. “And oh, by the way, what the hell did I do to piss you off so much?” 

Jensen glances down at the wheel held between both his hands, and then back out to the ocean. His hands tighten on the wheel, knuckles flexing around the polished wood. “Don’t give yourself too much credit. I’ve got plenty to be angry about besides you showing up.”

Yeah, that’s the one question he’d pick to answer. “Seems like it’s a major factor,” Jared comments.

The corner of Jensen’s mouth curves as he huffs out a laugh. “A lot can change in eight years. You should have been around,” Jensen adds, conversationally. “You’d have been surprised.”

“It’s not like I _could_ have been around.” Jared shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of the wind in his face. He hesitates over the next words for a long moment, torn, pulling back at the last second. “The only reason I found you after all this time was dumb luck.” 

“Yeah, _dumb_ luck,” Jensen echoes with a grim nod. “You shouldn’t have found me.” Jensen takes a deep breath and then exhales slowly. When he speaks again his words are bitter, a particular rhythm and measure to them, as if they’re familiar and known, words he’s uttered before.

“You think I came to Alaska to live on a boat—to what? Make a bunch of friends? Get married and adopt a couple of kids? I came here to get away from the world, Jared, and that includes you.” Jensen delivers the words with a lightness that does nothing to diminish the sting Jared feels.

“I don’t know what you expected, Jared. But this is what I do. I’m a glorified taxi driver. I ended up with a fairly ordinary life in an extraordinary place, and every day I think I’m lucky for that. Every day, I’m doing what I love.”

This? This is what Jensen loves? Sailing tourist boats? Being separate from the rest of the world? “Sailing or escaping?”

Jensen turns his face, jaw tightening, muscles flexing, teeth grinding as he pulls his lips into a smile. “Both.”

He can’t fathom how much Jensen has changed that he’d answer ‘yes’ to both. Sailing, yes, Jared can understand, because Jensen has always loved sailing. But, escaping? Not at all, not ever.

“What happened to saving the world one mission at a time? Saving marine life? Saving people?”

“Priorities change. Life changes.” Jensen shrugs, hands gripping tight to the wheel. “Now I just occasionally captain people on their way to meaningless missions to try and change the world.”

Jared breathes out hard, expression freezing, momentarily stunned.

“Meaningless?” Jared demands. “You think it’s _meaningless_?”

Jensen huffs out a sound that’s not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh, shaking his head. “You haven’t changed a bit. You still really think you can make a difference. Of course you do,” Jensen goes on, still smirking. “You finished school, got your doctorate. Of course you think so.”

Jared feels like Jensen punched him in the gut, breath shoved out of him. “You don’t?”

“Not for a lot of years now,” Jensen confirms, opening the throttle another notch.

Jared doesn’t… he doesn’t have a single thing to say that. Can’t even begin to form words. He pulls his upper lip between his teeth and walks away toward the starboard side of the boat and grabs the railing, staring out over the choppy wake of foam behind them, a slowly widening “v”.

He feels like he walked in on the third reel of some movie he never saw the preview for in the first place. 

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

Jensen grits his teeth harder as Jared walks away, and keeps on the gas, willing back memories with the hum of the engine in his head.

They subside about as much as the sound itself.

 

*

 

_They lie on the sand beneath palm trees on the night shore, swim trunks still wet and covered with clinging grains. The moon is huge and high above them, pale white and full, circular slice like a coin pressed against the background of velvet blue, pinpoints of starlight spreading out from the center, with the silhouettes of palm fronds cut across the sky, scattering shadows across their bodies._

_“Did you have to learn all the constellations as a navigation guide?” Jared asks._

_Four days now, they’ve known each other._

_“No,” Jensen shakes his head slightly. “Constellations haven’t been first and foremost since we’ve developed maps with routes, not to mention technology. Dead reckoning with map and a compass if all else fails.” Jensen stretches out on the sand, hands rising above his head and crossing like a pillow beneath the back of his neck. “But I learned them all anyway.”_

_“You would,” Jared laughs, shoulder nudging against his. Jared takes a deep breath, Jensen feeling him inhale, then slowly exhale through where they’re connected at the shoulder. Feels him tense before he says, “Teach me.”_

_Jensen bites his lower lip, and then takes Jared by the hand, pointing their joined hands to the stars as he names Orion’s belt._

_“These are the easiest ones to pick out, these three, to start with.”_

_*_

_It’s a while later when Jensen lies still, Jared’s hand still clasped tight in his._

_“What was it that made you fall in love with the ocean?” Jared tilts his head against the sand, looking directly at Jensen._

_Jensen is silent for a moment, looking up at the stars in the sky. He isn’t sure how much of this he’s willing to share with Jared, but he thinks maybe he can share enough to answer the question._

_“My mom was a marine biologist. I used to go on trips with her, when I was a kid. Observing marine life, tagging some of them, gathering data on them.” A faint smile creases Jensen’s lips, happiness tinged with sadness at the memory. “She loved what she did so much. And I did, too. Enough to follow in her footsteps. She was amazing, my mom.”_

_He can feel Jared wanting to ask about the “was” in that sentence, but Jensen isn’t ready to talk about that. Isn’t ready to talk about cancer and the way it ate away inside her until she was a shell of who she used to be, hollow-eyed skeleton with flesh barely clinging to her bones, asking Jensen about projects she’d finished years ago, and some she hadn’t, clinging to him with bony hands like claws, begging him to tell her what was happening to Jericho the whale, to Mariana the sea turtle, to the seal family they’d named after the Sopranos. Doesn’t want to talk about the jokes they’d made about the seal mafia. Phocidae mafia, bitches. Actual fucking seals—you’d better respect._

_His smile grows wider with remembering, and then he catches himself, swallowing hard._

_“I went out with her every summer. Helped her tag and track the animals.” He takes a breath, conscious of avoiding Jared unasked question._

_“I think I was… seven maybe? We were working with this group of whale sharks. And they’re really gentle, people swim with them during the summer when they come through the area we were in. She let me go out and swim with one of the males she’d tagged before, and he was… massive. So incredibly powerful and beautiful, and still he was playful, even with a tiny thing like me.” Jensen takes a breath, memory so close, so tangible he can almost feel the waves moving around him, the texture of skin beneath his fingertips._

_“He looked me in the eye,” Jensen shakes his head, not sure he’ll ever get over the wonder of that moment. “He **saw** me, he knew I was there, and…” Jensen laughs, low and still amazed, “he **played** with me, nudged me with his huge head, let me hold on to him and swam along, pulling me behind him. It was one of the best moments of my life, to share something so amazing with this mighty creature. Moving in synch, in harmony… that was the moment I realized humans aren’t so different from animals. That every single living creature has feelings, has a mind of its own, and no matter how different we are in appearance, we can still relate to each other in some ways—we can exist in this kind of beautiful harmony where we understand and just…” he lifts his free hand, gesturing at the sky, “ **be** what we are and share that moment. And this whale shark… this magnificent creature, with his own individual mind and personality… decided to share this moment with me. Decided to let me be part of his world.”_

_He looks over at Jared, realizing how far he’s gone with his explanation, part of him afraid of what he’ll see._

_“That sounds amazing,” Jared says, looking back with nothing except wonder, and the sincerity in him, God. The way he seems to feel it and understand it._

_Jensen nods, has to look back up at the sky. Runs his tongue over his lower lip, upper teeth following close behind. “It… that was the moment, if ever there was a single moment to define why I love the ocean so much, that was the one.”_

_“It’s beautiful.” Jared doesn’t say anything else, just squeezes Jensen’s hand, almost like he knows Jensen has more to say, and Jensen’s caught in the moment. He’s never told anyone as much as this, but Jared makes him feel like he **can**. Like Jared won’t judge him, will just listen._

_“My mom told me it was like that,” Jensen says, teeth catching at the corner of his lower lip. “In so many words, all my life.” He shrugs against the sand, and nothing about it feels light at all. “But sometimes, it takes a moment like that for it to really hit home.”_

_Jared’s silent for a long time, Jensen gritting his teeth as he stares up at the stars, and he doesn’t know how to explain it better than that. He answered Jared’s question, and even if there’s more he wants to say, he shouldn’t. He’s never told anyone this much, but as much as it is, it’s not even close to **all**. But Jared’s silence, Jared’s acceptance--the way Jared thinks it’s beautiful--makes him want to keep talking. It feels reckless, dangerous to say anything more, but the fingers laced through his are warm and strong with the kind of support he hasn’t felt in so many years._

_“I named him Horatio.” Jensen closes his eyes momentarily against the stars, swallowing with a convulsive motion of his throat, and he can feel how dry it is, hear the way it clicks audibly. “My mom… she used to read Shakespeare to me, even when I was little.” He clears his throat, swallows again with more saliva this time, looking down the length of his body stretched out on the sand, looks at anything except Jared, because if he looks at Jared he’s going to spill everything out all at once and he doesn’t think he can handle that. He lived through it all, but he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t live through the embarrassment of word-vomiting it out all over someone._

_So he measures his words, he takes his time before he speaks again._

_“I saw Horatio over the years as we kept track of him, went out to swim with him, every single time. And every time, it was like he remembered me, like he knew me.” Jensen bites down against the inside of his cheek, taking a slow breath. “I spent so much of my life moving from place to place… I always got along with people, and people liked me, but I gave up on having close, **real** friends after a while. It just wasn’t going to happen in the three, four months we spent somewhere.” He isn’t sure how to explain what it is that he felt—isn’t sure Jared would understand even if Jensen could. “But Horatio was…” Jensen debates a moment before he goes on, decisive. “He was my friend.” _

_“We moved around so much for mom’s work. But our stops on the ocean were always the same, and he was always there, in the same place, every summer.”_

_“It was… no matter what else had happened in my life, how bad it got, Horatio was always there. He was a constant. I didn’t see him all the time, but he was always there in my mind.” The fingers of Jensen’s free hand dig into the sand at his side, pulling a fistful between his fingers and palm. “He was always happy to see me, to swim with me. And sometimes…” Jensen lets the words hang on the air, considers the weight of what he’s about to say. He clutches the sand caught in his left hand, feels it squeeze out around the edges. “It sounds stupid, but sometimes… thinking about him was all that kept me going.”_

_“He was special,” Jared says—says and doesn’t ask, and Jensen appreciates it so much. Appreciates that he gets it, that he doesn’t think it’s stupid at all._

_“I saw him every summer of my life from seven years old on, and even after mom died—especially after that—I still went out to see him every year.”_

_It’s the next part that’s hardest, and Jensen isn’t even sure why he’s confessing this, except that somehow, some way, he feels like Jared will understand it—which is ridiculous after only knowing him for four days—but it feels true, feels **right**. And Jared gives him all the time in the world to compose himself. _

_“My mom, she was a given. She was part of my life I didn’t question until she wasn’t.” And Jensen doesn’t have the ability to explain beyond that, may never have the words to explain beyond that, nails of his free hand digging into his palm, sand spilling away, draining until there’s nothing left to hold on to. “But after she was gone… he was really all I had. And there were other constant animals in our life… I could tell you stories. But Horatio was… yeah, special.”_

_“I went out to see him last spring break… three years after mom’s death, and someone else was monitoring him, had been for a long time, but that didn’t matter.” Jensen breathes in deep, feels his throat clench into a knot, forces breath past it. “I just… I wanted to see him. And he… there was an oil spill…”_

_“Jesus, Jensen.”_

_“He was dead.” Jensen sucks in a breath and maybe he can finally get all of this out. “And… and all I could see was my mother dying all over again, in a different way. Choking on the black sickness inside him. Something that wasn’t his fault, something he’d never asked for. Something that had happened despite who he was. And he died just as senselessly as she did.”_

_Jared pulls close to him across the sand, fingers squeezing his so tight that Jensen thinks he might burst. It takes him a few moments, breathing hard in and out._

_“But that’s when I figured it out.” Jensen turns on his side, facing Jared, fire like certainty pulsing deep in his heart, the pounding of it loud in his ears._

_“I’m going to be more than this, Jared,” Jensen tells him. “More than teaching or research. I’m going to be part of what really matters.”_

_Jared looks back at him, rapt, not asking, but the question is clear in his eyes._

_“When I saw Horatio…” Jensen shakes his head, trying to figure out how to convey this. “I realized, I’ll never be able to do it through school, or education, or following all of the normal routes I’m supposed to follow. I can only be part of a real change if I break away from the system. Become part of something that breaks the system.”_

_Jared’s fingers flex though his, body turning to face him. “You could be. Finishing your degree could help you break the system. You’re four years into college. You’ve got what? Three left?”_

_Jensen’s upper lip curls slightly away from his teeth. “College doesn’t do shit to break the system. It didn’t do shit to save mom, it didn’t do shit save Horatio. Action. Action is what breaks the system. Greenpeace is action.”_

_Jared looks down at the sand, then down the beach in the scant space between them. “Don’t you think Greenpeace is maybe a little extreme though?”_

_“Maybe we need to be more extreme. Maybe not being extreme is why we’re losing this environmental war.”_

_Jared settles against the sand, looking him directly in the eye. “You can make a difference in other ways. They might seem small, sometimes, but they’re important. Research, studies, facts brought to life, given to the public.”_

_Jensen laughs with a harsh convulsion of his throat. “Like they’d ever present our findings as fact? The news is what drives the country, and the most they ever do is show the extreme situations, like oil spills, and work to deride whichever political side they hate more. And I don’t give a shit about the political war—it doesn’t ever actually make anything happen.”_

_Jared considers that for a long time, eyes never straying from Jensen’s. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe that’s what’s right for you.”_

_And if he’d said it any other way, if he’d said it in any other tone of voice, Jensen might have gotten up and walked away. But he says it so honestly, like he’s not sure—like he doesn’t know Jensen nearly well enough to know—but maybe it **is** , and he isn’t going to judge Jensen for believing it._

_That alone would probably be enough, but then Jared’s thumb rubs a slow, almost comforting circle across the skin between Jensen’s thumb and forefinger. “I’m sorry about your mom. And Horatio.”_

_And that’s honesty, too--too **much** honesty for Jensen to look directly in the face. A lot of people have told him they’re sorry about his mom over the years—hazards of the occupation; can’t be avoided. But those people actually knew her. Jared’s never met her at all, and he’s still genuinely sad, hazel eyes wide in the moonlight._

_Jensen clears his throat and cranes his neck, face turning toward the sky and looking at the stars instead, body slowly following the motion until he’s on his back again. But he doesn’t let go of Jared’s hand._

_“Thanks,” is all he says, voice rough, but his thumb slides slowly across Jared’s, fingers squeezing through his._

_Jared seems to understand, doesn’t say anything else. But he slides just a little closer across the sand, resting the barest edge of his cheek against Jensen’s shoulder, and under any other circumstances, Jensen wouldn’t let that happen--if Jared had been a little less honest, if Jensen were anything approaching thinking Jared was flirting with him or pitying him… But Jared wasn’t, and Jensen isn’t, and so he lets his face fall just slightly in Jared’s direction, not enough to touch, but enough to smell the sweat and salt water clinging to his hair._

_They lie like that in silence for a long time._

_And if Jensen’s far too conscious of everywhere Jared’s skin is touching him, the scant several inches that are, the way he can feel each and every grain of sand between them, it’s just because he’s not used to feeling so comfortable with someone so soon._

_And if he’s never felt quite this comfortable with someone before, well, that’s something he doesn’t want to think about too much right now._

 

*

 

Behind him, Jared shifts, quiet but dissatisfied. He swears he can hear the movement even above the hum of the engine, the sound of his boat hitting the waves, the water rushing past them. And that’s probably his conscience creeping in—because really, how could he possibly hear Jared shift his stance inside his clothes above all this noise? He just _feels_ like he can, because he knows that’s what’s Jared is doing right now—knows it as well as he knows the course he’s steering right now.

He could really do without his conscience--has done for a lot of years. And damn Jared for waking it up, for waking up these memories.

Damn him for Jensen still knowing him so well that Jared doesn’t even have to _say_ anything for his conscience to step in.

Fuck, this was such a bad idea. He should have refused Jared passage the moment he saw him. Not that he technically could have, given the terms of his contract, but still.

Jensen tenses, waiting for the questions that will inevitably come, shoulder muscles tightening like a shield against them.

_How can you think it’s meaningless?_

_How can you not care?_

_What happened to you?_

All of which are extremely valid questions, even if Jensen feels like the wheel is going to crack between his palms if he has to answer any of them.

He waits for Jared to say something, muscles knotting from his shoulders up into his neck over long moments as they crest wave after wave. 

After a few moments, he feels Jared walking up behind him, and he takes in a quick breath, tensing even harder—and then Jared’s walking past him, down the companionway to the left and gone, not a single word spoken.

He exhales into the wind hitting him from port side, relieved.

Fingers relaxing around the wheel, shoulder muscles slowly unknotting, 

It’s better this way.

Better to let Jared walk free. Jared will do research or read, or maybe do his crossword puzzles—if he still does. Jensen remembers how he used to do that, so fucking smart, and yet sometimes so focused on the question that he didn’t make the immediate correlation to the answer.

_Pen between his teeth, lips closed around it, brows furrowed in deep thought, Jared asking, “What’s a four letter word for deep fondness?”_

Jensen had turned away then, like he does now.

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

 _L'esprit de l'escalier_ translates from French into ‘the spirit of the stairway’. It’s the summation of the things you think on your way down the stairs, away from the confrontation, still having the argument in your head; the things you could have said that were so perfect, so full of wit, so meaningful in the moment.

Jared knows the French have a phrase for this because of a comic book he read once, and it’s a thing that’s lodged itself in his brain—mostly because he’s always wondered why the English language doesn’t have an equivalent for something so natural and human. Something he’s experiencing so completely right now.

His stairway is relatively short, but he still has time to think about the things he really should have said--is still thinking about them as he enters his room.

This was clearly a bad idea.

He should have…

No. He _shouldn’t_ have. That’s the problem.

But shit. Who is he kidding? The second he’d found out Jensen Ackles was the captain of the boat he’d chartered his heart had stuttered in his chest and he’d had to sit down, phone dangling uselessly in his hand, still displaying the details of his upcoming trip.

He’d run through a scenario or two where it was just someone with the (incredible to the point of disbelief) same name, but no. He’d been pretty sure there was no one else with that exact same name in the entire world. If there had been, he’d have found them when he did the occasional online search for Jensen Ackles.

A search done with the strangest sense of trepidation and hope that’s been completely realized by this expedition.

Because the people you knew in the past… the people you cared about that you lost through distance and time; you always want to find them again. You want to find them, and you want them to be who they were when you knew them. You want them to be happy to see you, and to pick up right where you left off. 

But you know it’s been years, and that people change. That they may only just barely remember you, and maybe you find out they never saw you the way you saw them—or maybe they did, but they’ve moved on. Either way, it’s not something you want to know. 

But sometimes, people creep in around the edges; stay with you through the years even though you’ve gone on with life. Sometimes, the connection with a person is so strong that you can’t forget them, can’t stop yourself from trying to seek them out. Can’t stop yourself from wanting to know—from _hoping_.

Jared had sat there in the chair, and had thought about all of that. But all he could focus on was that he’d finally found Jensen after all these years.

Jensen; who he’d never been able to let go of completely. Jensen; who he’d done countless online searches for over the years. Jensen; who he’d spent the best summer of his entire life with. 

Eight years later and he’d finally found him through complete accident. And to be completely honest, even if Jared had found him on purpose, he’d have still booked an expedition on his boat. But he’d found him _accidentally_.

Maybe he shouldn’t have gone through with it. Maybe he should have known better. But there’s no way he wouldn’t have done this.

Even if it isn’t turning out the way he hoped it would.

Jensen was inevitable. Maybe he always will be. 

Jared sits down on his bed and picks up his phone. He types in his password and then checks the time, decides he’s got at least an hour before he has to get ready for his first diving stop.

He isn’t sure how to fill that amount of time without dwelling on why he took this charter in the first place.

Maybe he should go check in on Chad, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet since they got onboard.

 

*

 

Chad opens the door to his cabin dressed in nothing except his boxer briefs, arching a brow at Jared’s appearance in front of him.

“So what’d he say?” Chad asks, folding his arms across his bare chest as he leans against the doorframe. “Let me guess; asshole things of the asshole variety?”

Jared has come to realize over the years that whenever Chad asks questions, they’re usually not _actual_ questions; just statements in the form of a question on the way to the point. Chad is like 98% Jeopardy. Alex Trebeck would have been so proud.

Of course, Alex Trebeck never had to confront Chad in his boxer briefs. But Jared’s used to it.

“You letting me in or what?” Jared asks, and Chad sighs, moves to the side of the doorway, gesturing to the room behind him.

It’s the same size as Jared’s, the only difference is that there’s a single bunk above Chad’s double bed.

Jared sits down on the edge of Chad’s bed, folding his hands together.

“What? Moping in your own cabin wasn’t good enough?” Chad asks he shuts the door behind him. “Dude, if you’re gonna mope in here, you better start talking.”

“He’s just…” Jared starts, then stops, taking in a breath and he hasn’t adequate time to process this. “He’s different.”

Chad sighs again, and the conversation they’re about to have isn’t exactly new; only new in the sense that Jared actually has new information about Jensen—none of it to Jensen’s benefit.

“Or maybe he never changed at all?” Chad sits down on the bed beside him and rubs a hand over his face. “I mean the guy’s been alive all this time and never contacted you.” Chad takes a breath and then looks over at Jared. “I’m not sure what you expected.”

“I… didn’t expect him to be the exact same. But… he’s _so_ different.” Jared unfolds his hands, turns his hands palm up, backs of them against his knees. “I know people change… but sometimes, you get to know people, you _really_ get to know them, deep inside. And what’s deep inside doesn’t usually change much. All that changes is that they don’t let you be part of it anymore.”

“Wow,” Chad breathes out, brows rising as he clasps his hands together across his bare knees. “It is way too early for you to be this maudlin.”

“I am _not_ being maudlin,” Jared contradicts.

“Yeah,” Chad nods, reaching out and patting Jared’s hand a few times. “Yeah, okay. Look, buddy. You’re as different to him as he is to you. You moved on. You got your PhD, you’ve been doing amazing research in the field for the last year. You’ve got important people interested in what you’re studying. You’ve been in relationships with other people. You’ve had experiences he’s never been part of and vice versa. Time has passed.” Chad lifts his hands through the air, fingers splayed apart and curved inward toward his open palms, encompassing the space between. “ _Empires_ have risen and fallen in less time.” Chad turns his face toward Jared’s, hands falling to his lap, expression completely serious. “You guys are not an empire.”

Jared regards him for a long moment, contemplating that in silence, and then shakes his head. “I don’t know what that means.”

“If you did,” Chad is sarcastically solemn as he speaks, “we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“No, but…” Jared draws the words out, thinking over what Chad said. “Are you saying we’re not an empire because we’ve risen and fallen in less than that amount of time? Or that we’re not an empire because we’re still moving forward?”

“Sometimes I have no idea why you’re my best friend,” Chad shakes his head hopelessly. 

“And most of the time I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s why you love me,” Chad assures him with a wink.

Chad gets to his feet in all his boxer brief glory, turning to look at Jared. “So... did Jensen die? Did he implode? Are we captainless? Do I have to steer the boat?”

“No,” Jared answers, and that much he’s sure of. 

“Then go get suited up,” Chad concludes, clapping him on the shoulder. “We’ve got work in less than half an hour.”

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

Jensen cuts the engine and drops the anchor at the coordinates of the first stop..

He takes a moment after he anchors, feels the sunlight beating down upon his shoulders and unzips his sweat jacket. He thinks he should go find Jared, tell him that they’ve come to the first stop, but he knows Jared knows already; knows he’s felt the cut of the humming engine, knows Jared knows what that means. 

A few moments later, Jared appears on deck in nothing but swimming trunks, bag dragged behind him. Upper body bare, and he’s so lean and cut, pecs sharp and divided by the flat trail leading down between the impressive and obvious eight pack of his stomach. Wide chest and shoulders tapering down to his hips, everything about him muscle and action, swim trunks hanging low, inner line of his hips etched out above dark blue on either side, skin so tan, trail of hair leading down the from center of his belly. Muscles of his calves rising in an upside down heart shape below the backs of his knees as he walks to the rail, and fuck he’s grown up, taller and stronger and more gorgeous than Jensen ever imagined.

Jared sits down on the rail and doesn’t say a word as he pulls what he needs from his bag, peels the scuba suit over his feet, tugging it to his ankles and then up along his perfectly muscled calves.

 

_“You’re my only student for this session, Jared.”_

_Jared pulls the scuba suit up past his calves to his thighs, smiling at Jensen as he does._

_“Then you’d better make it good.”_

 

Jensen would help Jared load the tanks of oxygen onto his back if Jared weren’t already so proficient at it--if Jensen hadn’t been the one who’d taught Jared how to do it in the first place. The ease in his muscles, movements so comfortable, so practiced now.

Air regulator pressed between his lips, and he glances back at Jensen across his alternate regular line, nodding. There are empty metal vials tucked into his weight belt; vials that he’ll open when he gets deep enough, let the sea around him fill the vacuum. Samples he’ll being back to the surface.

Jensen nods back.

 

*

 

_They’re treading water outside the boat, waves rough and harsh enough that it’s an effort to talk._

_“When we go down deep, your mask might fill with water. Breathe in through your mouth, breathe the air in the tank. Don’t breathe in through your nose. Tilt your mask upward and breathe out through your nostrils, push the water out, then pull it back down.”_

_Jensen has already taught Jared this in the basically placid depths of the shore, but here and now it’s crucial._

_He closes his fingers around his nose, mimicking blowing outward into his ears. “Remember, hold your nose, blow out through your ears every couple of feet until we get deep enough.”_

_Jared nods like he understands, and they duck beneath the surface, begin to descend the rope anchored down from the boat._

_Jensen always feels responsible for each and every single person he takes diving—it’s part of being a teacher. Their safety is his responsibility and his alone, and he takes it very seriously, always focuses on making people comfortable, teaching them every single tip and trick he knows. And he’s good at what he does; relaxed and confident and capable, and maybe he’s had one or two bad situations over the years where people panicked, but he knows how to handle them._

_He’s used to people putting their trust in him, and to being careful with water surface close over his head, Jared trusting him to make it okay and teach him how… it feels like more responsibility than he’s ever held. People’s lives are always in his hands to some degree when he takes them diving for the first time, but he’s good at his job, knows what to do if worst comes to worst. And he knows how to do that with Jared, too, so he’s not sure why the prospect of taking Jared diving for the first time makes him feel… what is it? Anxious?_

_He isn’t sure why he should feel anxious; he knows Jared’s more than capable of handling this, knows he himself is more than capable of helping or even saving Jared, should anything go wrong, and yet there’s a tightness in his chest, a tension pulling across his shoulder muscles and down his spine. But maybe that’s just because he knows Jared better than most of his students. Maybe knowing Jared like he does makes it a little more personal, a little more meaningful for Jensen to be at his absolute best._

_Jensen can see Jared’s eyes clearly through his mask, watching him closely as they move hand over hand down the line. Fingers pressed to Jared’s nose as he holds to the rope with one hand, trying to acclimate. He’s moving slow, but he’s moving, and Jensen isn’t one hundred percent sure he’s taking the proper amount of time to blow out his ears and acclimate to the pressure, but he seems okay._

_And then his mask starts to fill with water._

_When you’re this deep—not even very deep—underwater, and breathing through your mouth, dependent on a tank of air on your back for the first time, it’s very easy for your senses to get confused. The nose area of a mask is specially designed for you to squeeze it and breathe out inside your head to pressurize your ears, but it’s also designed to keep your nose inside, away from the water… so when the mask starts filling with water… so does your nose._

_Your mask, your NOSE filling up with water can be completely disorienting, make irrelevant the fact that you’re actually breathing underwater without its use. The instinct to breathe through the nose is ingrained, instinctive, and when it’s full of water, it doesn’t always matter that you can still breathe through your mouth, even if you have the presence of mind to keep doing so. You still feel like you’re going to drown, **because your nose is full of water** and this is basic human instinct at its finest in terms of survival._

_Jensen knows this, and he’s seen this happen with other people, and he’s had to go into action to try to get them back—but he’s never felt it quite like this as he watches as Jared fight against the feeling, breathing stale oxygen through his mouth in quick gasps, panicking. His eyes are wide, round, panicky. Jared wants to breathe through his nose, he should be breathing through his nose, this is all wrong._

_Jensen can’t speak, they’re underwater, but he focuses completely on looking into Jared’s eyes, raises his hands on either side of his body and pushes them forward, back, forward, back—it’s a motion that gets Jared’s attention, as it’s meant to. Once he sees he has Jared’s attention, he points to Jared’s eyes, then to his own—focus on me—_

_\--focus on me—_

_His heart hammering in his chest more than it ever does during times like these, he does what he’s supposed to do. He does what he’s supposed to do to teach Jared to breathe. Demonstrates lifting his mask and blowing out water, looks at Jared again, tells him with a motion of his hand to do the same._

_Jared exhales hard, tries; but he lifts the mask at the wrong angle, feels the water pressing in and starts to panic._

_And Jensen would take the time to try again with any other student, would do the best possible job he could by them. But he would never do it quite like this;_

_Jensen takes Jared by the hand, then, squeezes his fingers. And he doesn’t have time to be gentle about this, or he might lose Jared forever as far as diving is concerned, and some part of him knows if he lets Jared get lost right now, they’ll never do this again—more importantly, Jared will never do this again, and after just a week in Jared’s constant company, Jensen knows that would be the one of the worst disservices he could ever do Jared._

_So he clutches Jared’s fingers tight, takes their entwined hands and points to his eyes, then to Jared’s, pushes his other hand up under Jared’s jaw and pulling him to focus until Jared’s gaze is fixed on Jensen. Jensen can still see the panic struggling to break through in Jared, wants so badly to calm it, wants to grab him and take him to the surface—but that wouldn’t do either one of them justice. Doing it right would take time and panic management, and he could do that, but he really doesn’t want to. Not with Jared._

_And Jensen realizes for the first time that maybe he’s as scared as Jared—but he has a **job** to do. _

_Focus, Jensen._

_**Slow. Breathe out easy, like this, stay with me, follow me, just like this.** Jensen thinks the words, willing his eyes to convey them. He pulls his mask away from his cheekbones, breathing deliberately up into it, then settles is back with precision, eyes instantly meeting Jared’s._

_**Come on. Stay with me. You’re here with me, I’m here with you, you’re okay, you’re safe, you can do this, do it like that.**_

_**Trust me.** _

_**Please trust me.** _

_Almost as if he can hear Jensen, Jared nods, calming himself with an effort, and then, with very slow, deliberate motions, follows Jensen’s example. Face mask pulled upward, air blown inside until it’s empty of water, replaced on his face. He’s looking to Jensen for approval, to tell him he’s okay, and Jensen pulls free of Jared’s hand, settles both hands on either side of Jared’s jaw line, thumbs pressed against the apples of his cheeks, and nods, smiling around the mouthpiece of his air tank. Forehead leaning through the negative pressure of the water between them to rest against Jared’s, eyes closing tight._

_**You’re okay.** _

_Jensen lets go with one hand, slowly pulling back until he can see Jared’s face. He gives Jared a thumbs up. The universal symbol for ‘good job’ but so, so, much more important when underwater, because it’s the same symbol that mean’s ‘I’m okay’, depending on how it’s delivered, and Jared looks okay, but Jensen wants to make sure._

_Jensen looks at Jared for a few seconds, watching him breathe in and out through his tank, and then raises his brows, tilting his thumb to the side before giving Jared another, slower, thumbs up and then slowly turning it downward, then upward again in question. ‘Yes or no? Are you okay?’_

_Jared breathes out through his nose, bubbles obscuring his expression, but he gives Jensen a solid thumbs up and nods._

_Jensen squeezes his fingers against Jared’s jawline, thumb pressing into flesh._

_He’s okay._

 

*

 

Jared flashes him a thumbs up before falling backwards over the side of the boat, flippered feet disappearing last.

 

*

 

_They go further down, swimming at the bottom, thirty-five feet deep, Jensen looking back and making sure Jared’s right there with him the whole way. Jared’s got a natural sort of grace about him despite his impossibly long limbs, there in the way he kicks his feet, pushes his arms through the water._

_They swim through schools of brightly colored fish, each one of them amazing and worth every moment. They don’t see any sea turtles, although they do see a four fingered starfish and a single barracuda all of three feet long, holding completely still against the current, waiting for fish to swim right up to it._

_Jared enjoys every second once they’re down, and Jensen feels a strange sense of pride. He’d been sure he was going to lose Jared right there at the beginning—that they’d have to go back to the boat and Jared would maybe never have the guts to try again, that Jensen would’ve failed him. But the way Jared’s grinning now you’d never have known how scared he’d been just a little while ago. His eyes are full of wonder, taking in everything around him, and Jensen can tell he sees the beauty in it, appreciates it in a way few people do, and it makes Jensen smile to see it._

_They go all the way to the edge of the underwater sculptures made to encourage the growth of coral. A Volkswagen with a young girl curled upon its hood, and this one is clear of any growth, but it’s at the very edge. Swimming further they find a large circle of sculpted people in various stages of being overgrown by coral. Less so at the outside, more and more toward the center. They’re all creepy, red scales of growth mostly obscuring their faces and bodies, but incredibly beautiful at the same time._

_Scary as they may be, they’re giving new life._

_Jared doesn’t quite touch the edges of the growth, fingers poised over an inch away, reverence in the motion, appreciating it for what it is._

_He’s so beautiful; a creature new and strange to this world who knows how to exist within it._

_And going any further in would be meaningless for any kind of appreciation of art beyond coral growth, but Jared signals Jensen then. He’s down to half an hour of air. Jared lets Jensen know immediately as Jensen had instructed him to do, and Jensen has a whole hour left, but it’ll take fifteen minutes to get back to the boat, and so he takes Jared by the shoulder, leads him in that direction._

_They cling to each other along the way up the rope, Jensen holding him back, showing him how to ascend slowly. Heads breaking above the harsh waves, shaking off the water, mouthpieces set aside, and Jared’s grinning so wide and brilliantly, so pleased with himself that it’s all Jensen can do not to laugh._

_“Not bad for your first time,” Jensen remarks, smirk curving his mouth._

_He can’t quite account for the pride swelling in his chest._

 

*

 

A few minutes after Jared goes overboard, Jensen’s sitting along the rail, reading, when Chad emerges from below deck, clad in his own swim trunks, bag dragged behind him.

Chad pulls into his diving suit and equipment like Jared did, except that he stops, looks at Jensen directly before he pulls his goggles down.

He flips his middle finger at Jensen before he falls over the edge of the boat.

Jensen lets it go, because, yeah, he probably deserves it--but also because it makes him laugh. There are so few things that make him genuinely laugh anymore.

Chad doesn’t give a fuck, except for how he does, and every bit of it is tied to Jared, and how Jared feels about Jensen. 

And Jensen really can’t hold that against him.

Hell, he’s been there himself.

He’s there right now, with the very book he’s reading, and why he decided _now_ to choose “Catcher in the Rye” as reading material, he couldn’t say. It’s just one of those coincidences life likes to throw at you.

The themes alone… self-protection through alienation, isolation… they would probably have struck Jensen at any point in his life the last few years, but they wouldn’t have struck as deep as they do now that Jared’s here. That and… Jensen has returned, over and over again to the idea of Jared over the years. Jared is frozen in time, like the museum exhibits are for Holden. The Jared he remembers will never judge him. That Jared never changes. 

That Jared is the one he knew.

But this Jared, this is a Jared who has returned, who can talk to him, touch him, will judge him. 

_Has_ been judging him.

He bites down against his lower lip, closes the book, and stares at the cover.

 

*

 

Jared comes back up first, hands grabbing along the gunwhale.

Jensen moves to help him before he can remember himself. It’s habit to help customers up.

He isn’t prepared for his hands clasped around Jared’s forearms, or the way Jared grabs him in return, the way Jared’s bare hands feel, gripping Jensen. The way his eyes meet Jared’s through his goggles as he pulls Jared up over the edge.

“Everything go okay?” Jensen asks. It’s a routine question, even if it feels like anything but routine right now, staring into Jared’s eyes.

Jared stands up, his hands still tangled with Jensen’s. Jensen’s mouth so close to Jared’s, and Jared pulls the regulator from between his lips. “Yeah, everything was okay. I’m okay.”

Fractions of an inch, and Jensen would be kissing Jared if he leaned in, even the tiniest bit. “Good.”

Chad drags himself up over the edge of the boat and stands up on his feet without ceremony, pulling the mouthpiece from between his lips. 

“Not to wrench you guys out of your star-crossed lovers bullshit, but in case you were wondering, I’m fine.” 

“Of course you are,” Jensen sighs as he pulls back from Jared.

Jensen busies himself raising the anchor while Jared and Chad strip out of their wetsuits, and Jensen can’t help noticing that Jared’s swim trunks get pulled down extremely low in the process. The curve at the top of Jared’s muscular ass is bared, so round and perfect that it’s almost _obscene_. Jared himself doesn’t seem to notice, too busy talking to Chad about the samples they took. The anchor is nearly to the surface before Jensen realizes he’s staring, and then he looks away so fast it would probably look comical if anyone were watching. Thankfully no one was.

He focuses on only looking at the boat with a conscious effort after that.


	3. Chapter 3

 

They make one more stop on their route for Jared and Chad to dive, and it’s after dark when they finally make port in Wrangell. Jensen’s tired after the long day, and all he wants is to eat dinner and read until he falls asleep.

Jared and Chad are in the common area, the table cluttered with their laptops, several different kinds of water testing kits and a microscope among other things. They’re both apparently deeply involved in typing whatever their findings were into their respective laptops. 

Jensen puts a bowl of homemade soup in the microwave, leaning back against the counter while it warms up. He folds his arms over his chest while he waits, and glances over at the two of them again. Jared’s got a slight line between his brows, frowning in concentration at his laptop screen, fingers tapping away at the keys. Jensen can tell Jared isn’t happy with what he found, because if he was, no matter how focused he was, that line between his eyebrows wouldn’t be there. Unless what he was looking for was something of the not-good variety—then that line would definitely be there.

The fact that Jensen still knows these things about Jared bothers him a little, and he pushes the thought from his mind, about to turn because the microwave’s surely going to ding any second now.

Jared glances up then, eyes meeting Jensen’s. He starts to smile, instinctively, and then the expression sinks back into his face, like he isn’t sure Jensen would accept his smile—or worse, Jensen isn’t worthy of his smile.

Either way, it’s probably better. But as Jensen turns and pulls his bowl from the microwave, he finds it bothers him more than a little.

He takes his soup to his quarters and eats there.

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

Jared glances up again as the door to Jensen’s quarters closes. He bites his lower lip and holds back a sigh, staring at the closed door for a moment. It’s as closed to him as Jensen is. There’s an ache in him that feels like it’s been there his whole life, and even now, this close to the source, he can’t quite soothe it.

He looks back down at his computer screen, fingers settling into position on his laptop, and gets back to work

 

*

 

Jared wakes to the sudden humming of the boat’s engine, a good five minutes before his alarm is due to go off, according to his phone. 

If nothing else, Jensen’s keeping them on schedule. It’ll take them half an hour to get to the next diving spot, and Jared had set his alarm in anticipation of that, leaving himself plenty of time to take a quick shower, throw on swim trunks, grab his bag, have a cup of coffee, get on deck and get ready.

He’s awake early, though, and he finds himself on deck while they are still under way. He could just get into his wet suit and get his equipment ready, and probably Jensen would prefer that; if Jared was ready to just dive the second they stopped—anything as long as they didn’t have to talk about the past. He doesn’t understand why things are that way, but Jensen’s made it very clear that’s the way it is.

But not being able to talk about the past doesn’t mean they can’t talk about the present, and there _is_ something else Jared’s been curious about since he first saw Serenity yesterday. He knows Jensen contracts with the company he’s currently working for, that was all evident in the research Jared did on the company.

He drags his bag over to the edge of the boat, but he doesn’t get into his wet suit, walks over and stands next to where Jensen’s steering, looking out over the water rushing at them. He crosses his arms over his bare chest, tilting his chin up and back a bit, so the wind blows his hair straight back from his face rather than into his eyes.

“She’s a beautiful boat,” Jared says, and she is. She’s a small cruise ship, but she’s gorgeous. Jensen’s care for her is obvious in the way the wooden deck shines, the way the railings gleam, the brightness of her paint, only the faintest signs of weathering showing on the outside. Jared would bet money Jensen puts most of his earnings from these trips right back into his boat. 

“She is,” Jensen agrees, smile curving his lips, and it’s the first, truly genuine smile he’s seen on Jensen’s face since he arrived.

“Where’d you buy her?” Jared feels manipulative as hell right now, because he knows how much Jensen loves talking about boats, remembers how Jensen had always wanted a boat of his own—but Jared’s honestly curious. 

“Government auction. Some tax dodger got nailed,” Jensen actually grins, like the idea tickles him. “I got such a deal on her… it was criminal.” 

That makes sense, because this kind of boat costs a lot of money—the kind the average person generally can’t afford. Jensen hadn’t come from a wealthy family and had never been particularly interested in making money as much as making a difference. 

Jensen moves one hand from the wheel and settles it against the wood behind. “She didn’t look like this when I bought her though.”

“Fixer upper?” Jared asks. He’s curious, he really is, but he’s also the tiniest bit happy Jensen’s finally speaking to him in something other than terse sentences.

Jensen puts his hand back on the wheel, nodding. “Whoever owned her bought her, parked her in a slip and forgot about her for a few years. Took me about a year of working odd jobs making the money to fix her up after I bought her.”

Odd jobs; he hadn’t left Greenpeace for capitalism to get a boat and escape the world, then.

Jesus, Jared has to stop analyzing every tiny bit of data he’s getting. That isn’t what this is about.

“Her name, Serenity…” Jared says after a moment. “That’s kinda Firefly.” He turns his head to look at Jensen, sees the smile spread across Jensen’s face.

“Firefly is kind of her,” he answers.

Jared just stares at him for a moment. “You mean you watched it?”

“Someone recommended it to me,” Jensen says, smile slowly fading. “A long time ago.”

Jared knows, because he was that person. Jesus, the night they’d talked about Firefly, Jared hadn’t been able to _shut up_ , sure he’d killed any interest Jensen might have had in it due to his sheer exuberance in telling Jensen how much he needed to watch it.

But Jensen _had_ watched it. After Jared was no longer a part of his life, no longer significant, he’d taken the time to watch it. He’d loved it enough to name his boat “Serenity” after the Firefly class space ship the series was named for.

“You know you’re Malcolm Reynolds, right?” Jared asks. “Hard-assed, smart-mouthed captain of a boat that lives on the outskirts of society while trying to make a living?”

Jensen actually grates out a harsh laugh. “Yeah. If you leave out the rebellion against a major societal belief angle.” 

“Yeah,” Jared says, shaking his head, “no. I wasn’t leaving that part out. That’s how I always saw you.”

“Mal gave that up long before he found Serenity.”

Jared turns that over in his mind for a moment. “No. He really didn’t.” Jared shakes his head. “Even after losing his faith, Mal didn’t give up completely. He was still looking for meaning. He was jaded,” Jared amends, “but he wasn’t beyond caring.”

“Is that how you see me?” Jensen asks, and his tone is mostly neutral, but there’s _something_ in it that gives Jared pause. “You think there’s still something in me looking for meaning?”

“Maybe,” Jared replies, voice soft. “Maybe I’m naïve, but I don’t think people can change completely. Not at the core. They just get better at hiding it.”

Jensen’s silent for a long moment before he answers. “Maybe you never knew me as well as you thought you did.”

“Yes, I did.” If there’s one person Jared ever deeply and truly knew, it’s Jensen. 

“You really haven’t changed a bit.” Jensen turns his face against the wind, looking Jared in the eye, and Jared can’t quite decipher the emotion he sees there, just knows it’s the most open he’s seen Jensen be since he stepped on board. 

“Jensen,” Jared says, taking a breath of cool, morning air, and he’s not entirely sure what he means to say or do next—something stupid and irrevocable, almost certainly. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Chad groans as he steps up onto the deck, shielding his eyes against the morning sunlight. “Are we there yet?”

Jared can see the way Jensen closes up, folding in on himself even as he straightens up, his hands releasing and gripping the wheel.

“Three minutes,” Jensen replies.

Another couple of minutes, another couple of seconds, and who knows what could have happened?

Jared pushes away the pieces of his past and present as he crosses the deck, pushes his body into the equipment pulled out of the bag he’d brought with him, muscles stretching and straining against the second skin of a dive suit.

 

*

 

The day passes with the same regularity of the day before; time spent diving, analyzing his samples, then analyzing his data, and even with two stops, it’s a short day, because Petersburg isn’t far from their last port. 

Jensen docks them in Petersburg somewhere around 3:30pm, and by 4pm, Jared’s had enough of data, decides to go out and see the city—or borough, as it were. Chad’s in his cabin with the door shut as far as Jared can tell, probably processing research. Jensen’s nowhere to be seen, probably holed up in his cabin as well, maybe reading Catcher in the Rye. 

Jared had noticed the book laid face down and open in the seating area near the rail, only spread wide enough to hold a reading place, not enough to put a crease in the spine, and he’d smiled, because that was the Jensen he’d known all over. Owner of old, well-read books who would never dare crack a fresh spine in anything he‘d ever read. Previously, well-worn spine cracks may come and go, but Jensen won’t ever be the maker of them.

Jensen always treated the things he cared about with reverence. He gave them places of honor in his room, put them on display to be admired as they should, and Jared’s so curious about his room, now. Does he still love the ocean like he used to? The evidence of it stacked up on his walls like proof of life, like he couldn’t be alive without it?

Jared wishes he knew.

But there’s no evidence in the common room or on deck of other life, and so he steps off the boat and goes exploring.

 

*

 

He spends a couple hours on the general attractions of the city, and then finds a small bar off the beaten path, has a beer or two or three. It’s probably a mistake, because he’s still thinking about Firefly, and Jensen.

Jensen still treats the things he cares about with reverence, if Serenity’s anything to go by. And her name, alone…

The way he’d looked at Jared in the moment before Chad came above deck.

Jared drinks the last bit of his beer in his glass, pays the waitress for his tab and leaves several dollars for a tip, empty glass set on top of the bills.

The sun is low in the sky as he steps outside. 

 

*

 

_The sand is warm against Jared, sticking to him everywhere as the tide washes over his feet, sun beating down upon his skin. Grainy scratch against his elbows as he sits upward, gazing out across the blue-green water, watching white, foamy waves breaking on the shore, rhythm like a heartbeat._

_Seaweed caught in the line, imperfect and washing up on the beach, ocean coughing up its secrets in the broad light of day, and he’d always thought it was the depths of the ocean that held the most mystery. Thousands of miles unexplored, so many miles he’ll never be able to reach._

_Every single mile, every inch of it, written out in the sand through his fingers, slowly tracing out the lines of a name. Jagged and crooked motions through wet grains, body turned on its side, biting against his lower lip as he re-etches the first letter._

_“You’re not giving up already, are you?” comes the voice from behind him, and he scratches his hand through the sand, erasing the name he’d traced there, the embodiment of it just behind him, that voice so buoyant, so full of teasing._

_“Never,” he laughs, as he rolls over, throwing a handful of dry sand at Jensen’s face._

_Jensen thrusts up his hand in time to block half of it, and then spits sand out the side of his mouth, other half of his face regarding Jared mock-seriously even as he works through the grit in his mouth with slow clenches of his jaw. “Oh, you are going **down** ,” he promises, diving and grabbing Jared with both hands, rolling him over._

_They wrestle in the sand, ocean lapping at their legs as they turn over and over, laughing and pushing for position, and Jared’s never felt more alive than this, Jensen all muscle and playfulness, sun-warmed, hard body pressed against him, fingers interlaced in double fists as they vie for control, Jensen’s laughter reverberating through his chest as they roll._

_He’s so beautiful, corners of his eyes crinkling, something so pure and honest in him, and all they’re doing is wrestling, but all Jared can think about is if he let Jensen pin him, if he surged up and kissed that gorgeous, full mouth._

_Jensen scrubs a handful of sand against Jared’s mouth, pushing the grit out across his cheek. “Not so fun on the other side, is it?”_

_Jared turns his face to the side, mouth barely catching the incoming tide, sucking it into his mouth and spewing it out, spitting sand. Body turning, twisting, throwing Jensen over with a twist of one leg between his, grinning down into his face as he settles on top. Sand grinds between his teeth as he says, “Totally worth it.”_

_Jensen stills, settling against the beach, fingers relaxing between Jared’s. “All right, I give up.”_

_“That’s what I thought,” Jared grins, loosening his grip and taking just a moment to admire Jensen pliant on the ground beneath him, looking up at him with those gorgeous green eyes, slight crinkles at the edges where he squints against the sunlight, the feel of Jensen’s body beneath his, knowing how soon all of this will be gone, and he doesn’t care. Jensen pliant underneath him, looking at Jared like that, and it’s enough—more than enough._

_“Sucker,” Jensen whispers within an inch of his mouth, throwing them both over, Jared’s back hitting the beach, and Jared curls up from the ground, laughing as he throws his weight into Jensen, both of them grappling against the sand and each other._

 

*

 

Jared can hear the faint strains of music as he approaches the dock, sound growing stronger and richer as he edges along the beach. 

He can see Jensen from here, mostly silhouetted in the light of the setting sun, sitting at the prow of the boat, feet dangling over the edge, a guitar resting across his knees. He strums the notes with an easy, deft hand, and Jared recognizes the song before Jensen even begins to sing.

_“Whenever I’m alone with you,_  
You make me feel like I am home again  
Whenever I'm alone with you  
You make me feel like I am whole again” 

It’s the 311 remake of Lovesong, the slower version that sounds Caribbean, wistful notes that speak of empty boats and palm trees, the loneliness of the sea. The one they’d heard everywhere that summer so long ago.

Jensen’s voice is clear and strong, rising on the evening air, and the sound sends chills racing all though Jared, skin rising in goose bumps along his arms. So long since he’s heard that voice and yet he’s never forgotten it, the rich purity of it, the passion behind it.

_“However far away_  
I will always love you  
However long I stay  
I will always love you” 

Jared closes his eyes, lets the song take him back to a summer night spent on the beach, the two of them sitting side by side in the sand as the night wind blew in from the sea, Jensen singing this very same song, voice carrying on the breeze. Such a beautiful song, such a sad song, and Jared had imagined Jensen singing it just for him—had wished it so much with all his heart that he’d felt it might tear him in two.

Feels it now like he felt it then, eight years and nothing has changed.

Eight years and he’s still the same boy, aching on the edge of a beach, wishing and wanting.

Wishing and wanting and he knows better, he really does. 

 

*

 

He boards the boat, walking up behind Jensen. Jensen has finished his song; hands momentarily limp against his guitar, staring down at it as if lost in thought.

He’s so beautiful, even from behind, in his tight sweatshirt and jeans, and Jared knows he shouldn’t feel like this, but he can’t help it.

“You gonna say something or are you just gonna stand there and stare?” Jensen asks.

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

Jensen is all sarcasm, fingers clenching around his guitar. He knows, he remembers, when he used to sit beside Jared and sing this song, knows Jared heard him playing it. 

Jensen doesn’t expect anything from Jared, much less for Jared to answer the way he does.

“I looked for you, you know.” Jared takes a deep breath, and Jensen can hear every moment of eight years carried across his words. “I _searched_ for you.”

Jensen’s jaw tenses, and he strums his fingers across the strings in a discordant sound. “Like I said; you shouldn’t have found me.”

“And your first response isn’t ‘why’?” The exhalation of air through Jared’s nose is audible. 

That’s the one question Jensen doesn’t feel like he needs to answer, but he does, anyway. “No.”

“No,” Jared snorts. “I guess it wouldn’t be.”

Jensen knows why; doesn’t want to think too deeply about why. Would never in a million years ask why, because, “Asking ‘why’ would imply I didn’t already understand.”

He can hear Jared move, feel his presence as he walks up behind Jensen, sense just the barest hint of breath ghosting over the tiny hairs at the base of his neck.

“Tell me what you understand.”

Jared always did have a way of catching him off guard. Of laying him bare. And it’s his tone, open and unyielding, undemanding and simply asking, just wanting to _know_ that moves Jensen to speak.

Jensen swallows hard, looking down at his guitar. “I thought about going back, too. About finding you. But what we were… what happened… that was then. We’re different people now.”

“I’m not so different,” words whispered against the back of Jensen’s neck.

Chills down his spine, goose bumps following behind, heart speeding up. Jensen grinds his teeth together and closes his eyes momentarily. 

“Maybe you’re not,” Jensen whispers. “But I _am_.”

“Then let me learn who you are now,” Jared breathes back, kneeling down, and his fingertips touch Jensen’s waist, just barely, feeling of him so close, electricity sparking on his skin, crackling on the air between them, a thunderstorm barely held in check. Lightning through the sky of Jensen’s mind, striking him so completely, echoing through his bones—echoing of memory. Sensation of Jared’s fingertips like magnetism and Jensen wants to let it in. He wants to.

“You don’t want to know,” Jensen tells Jared in all honesty.

“You don’t _want_ me to know,” Jared replies, chest brushing against Jensen’s back as he leans forward.

Jared leans in close, voice whispering back, cheek turning against the back of his head, lips moving against his ear, so close, breath whispered out, faint and warm, and fuck, he’s learned so much. “I’m not nineteen anymore, Jensen.”

No. Jared isn’t. 

Jared at nineteen, still so unsure of himself, would never have done this. But Jared at twenty-seven is a creature Jensen was never prepared to deal with. A person Jensen was never prepared to face.

He’d always though their lives would go on separately. That person that he was so close to that he’d lost; that person he’d maybe look up on Facebook one day just to see him again. Wouldn’t friend him, because Jensen doesn’t even have an account, but if he did, he’d just look Jared up to see how he was doing, assess his life. Confirm that he’s successful, with a partner of some kind, and maybe an adopted kid. But he’d never gotten around to that Facebook account, to tracking Jared down—because in a lot of ways, that was easier.

So much easier than feeling Jared here and now. So much easier than feeling like Jared still wants him. 

So much easier than feeling what’s always been between them.

“We can’t do this,” Jensen’s voice is a low, guttural whisper. His hands release the guitar for a moment, closing around Jared’s, removing them from his body; placing them at Jared’s side, letting go.

“You said ‘can’t’”. Why can’t we?” Jared asks, but he doesn’t touch Jensen again, warmth of him moving away from Jensen’s back. 

And again, as always, it’s the way Jared asks; level-headed and even and just wanting to know that moves Jensen to speak. 

“Because what we had, then, was something special. Something that doesn’t seem like it can ever happen again, because… we were so young. We didn’t know any better. It was a summer before both of our lives changed forever. Both of us were in a place where we were on the cusp of everything, where everything still seemed possible. Everything seemed magical. It isn’t like that anymore. ”

Jared takes in a slow breath. “I still feel that way. Every time I look at you. Like everything is possible.”

The link between present and past runs like a chain through his soul, heavy weight threatening to pull him under, leave him lost. 

“Jared… don’t.” Jensen can barely begin to explain why it’s wrong. Jared so close to him, saying things that make him want to believe. That’s maybe what kills him the most; wanting to let Jared in—and he’s always felt that way.

Jared was never going to be just a passenger; it was always going to be this. Jared’s as raw and open as he’s always been--only now he’s old enough to plow through Jensen’s defenses on a conscious level.

That beautiful boy who hadn’t presumed to judge him. That boy has grown up. And that boy still cares about him, even though he’s a man now.

“I don’t deserve this,” Jensen whispers.

“Bulllshit,” Jared whispers back.

Jensen turns his face across his shoulder to look at Jared, and he’s right there, so close to him, fractions of an inch and Jensen would be kissing him. He’s waited long enough to do that, hasn’t he? The times he’d wanted to kiss Jared that whole summer, he should be allowed to act on them now, shouldn’t he? Hasn’t he earned that?

No. He hasn’t. Not even close. He’s earned the opposite of that, if anything. 

“Go to bed, Jared.” He breathes the words, and turns back to his guitar, strumming out the chords to a different song.

Jensen wonders if it will be now that Jared asks the question Jensen’s been waiting for—the one he knows is coming, in some shape or form, eventually.

But Jared doesn’t. Jensen hears the shifting of him moving backward, and then walking away toward the cabin.

He takes a moment, staring out at the faint orange-pink hue of the sky at the edge of the ocean.

His fingers begin to pick out the notes to a song he hasn’t played since that summer so many years ago. 

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

Inside the cabin, Jared can hear the song Jensen’s playing, remembers Jensen playing it then, too, the way he would sing it, his voice filled with so much sorrow and longing.

_“Today's the Macy's Day Parade_  
The night of the living dead is on its way  
With a credit report for duty call  
It's a lifetime guarantee  
Stuffed in a coffin 10% more free  
Red light special at the mausoleum” 

Jared halts in his steps, taking in a breath. God, he hasn’t heard this song since the last time Jensen sang it. Both of them sitting along the rail of the boat, just the two of them, the rest of the world so far away, Jensen strumming and singing, moving his shoulders in time with the rhythm of the song, Jared watching the way the moonlight played across his features, and Jensen had been so full of sadness and passion, _hope_.

_“Give me something that I need_  
Satisfaction guaranteed to you  
What's the consolation prize?  
Economy sized dreams of hope” 

Jared can’t hear that hope anymore. Like a photocopy of a photocopy, faded and blurred. He can hear the _want_ to feel it, though—the search to feel it. And it hurts him to the core of his soul.

_“Give me something that I need_  
Satisfaction guaranteed  
Because I'm thinking about  
A brand new hope  
The one I've never known  
Cause now I know  
It's all that I wanted” 

Jared starts walking again, closing the door on the sound of Jensen’s voice.

 

*

He doesn’t talk to Jensen the next morning, times things so he gets on deck after they’ve anchored, focusing on getting into his gear and checking his equipment.

 

*

 

They spend that night anchored in a cove on the way to Sitka. Jared’s done two dives today, and he’s got plenty of data to go over, is excited about it, sitting side by side with Chad in the common area.

Jensen heats up his soup, like he always does, heading toward his quarters, bowl clasped between his hands. He’s never sat with them once to have dinner. Not that Jared or Chad make a thing out of dinner; it’s more like, “You hungry? Yeah.” And then heating up food in the microwave. On the really rare occasion, one of them will make macaroni and cheese, which is a twenty minute endeavor and not to be underestimated. Really good macaroni and cheese is 98% butter and 2% milk. This is something only experts know. The box will tell you lies.

But tonight they heat up frozen dinners after Jensen’s left the common area, and Jared chews on the lowest form of Salisbury steak, wondering what Jensen’s doing inside the confines of his quarters.

Wondering why he’d been playing his guitar last night. Wondering at how he’d let Jared in even the tiniest fraction.

*

They wake early the next day, make two dive stops, and then a third before anchoring for the night.

It’s approaching late afternoon when Jared finishes his third dive, climbs back up on deck and notes Jensen is reaching the end of Catcher in the Rye based on the way it’s spread open against the seating area, the still un-cracked spine giving the book a sharp upside down “v”.

Jensen is watching him; head leaned back against the cushion of the seating area. He’s wearing a thin white hoodie and a pair of battered jeans, legs extended and crossed at the ankle, arms folded across his chest, looking at Jared like he’s sizing him up and Christ, it’s ridiculous how hot he looks just stretched out on the seat fully clothed. He could stand here for hours, probably, just taking in the view, but he can also feel weight in Jensen’s gaze—the weight of the silence that’s been between them all day.

Jared reaches up and removes his regulator, then his goggles, returning Jensen’s silent look. “You enjoying the book?”

There something strange in Jensen’s expression—a fleeting moment of emotion Jared doesn’t understand—and then Jensen lifts a shoulder as he sits forward, uncrossing his ankles and drawing his legs up, resting his elbows on his knees. “Not as much as I thought I would.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Yeah,” Jensen nods. “So are a lot of things in life.” He sounds tired… resigned, maybe?

Jared’s brows draw together, forehead pulling in a light knot. He turns his goggles over in his hands as he considers Jensen. “You doing okay?” 

Jensen rubs his palms together across his knees, head tilting to the side as he bites his lower lip, upper lip covering his teeth, and squints at Jared. “No arguments about the quality of J.D. Salinger’s work, or questions about why I don’t like it.” Jensen shakes his head, like he doesn’t get it but also as if he’d never expected anything else, eyes still fixed on Jared. “No, not from you. Just sympathy and understanding and wanting to know if I’m okay.”

Jared’s mouth tugs in half-smile. “I’ve noticed you don’t tend to respond well to arguing or probing questions.”

“And you thought asking me if I was okay wasn’t a probing question?” Jensen asks, tilting his head just a fraction more to the side, his lips curving with the hint of a smile.

“Not really,” Jared admits, his smile broadening. “But it was the only I question I wanted an answer to.”

“I know,” Jensen nods, eyes still focused on Jared like he’s sizing him up, fingers of one hand rubbing against the palm of his other.

“So _are_ you okay?” Jared asks after a moment, ocean breeze picking up, tossing wet strands of hair back from his face.

“Rarely, if ever,” Jensen sighs, breaking the moment, and then pushing up from his seat. It’s a dismissive statement, Jensen putting his armor carefully back into place, but Jared would swear there’s a kernel of truth in there somewhere.

He wishes he knew what it was.

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

They arrive in Sitka mostly on time. 

Jensen is just finishing tying Serenity to the dock when he glances up, suddenly sensing another presence nearby.

A moment later Misha strolls into view from beyond the hull of the boat. He’s dressed in a t-shirt with white words printed across it Jensen can’t quite make out between the half-zipped windbreaker he’s wearing, fingers of his hands shoved into pockets of his tight, dark-blue jeans, legs long, feet set wide apart, encased in a pair of tennis shoes. He’s also sporting a pair of Aviator sunglasses, which are completely unnecessary given how overcast the day is.

He’s got his head slightly cocked to the side, blue eyes considering something behind Jensen.

Jensen cranes his neck and sees Jared standing at the top of the companionway, one hand still holding on to the railing, pink lips parted and half-smiling, hazel eyes slightly widened with surprise.

“Misha! You made it.” Jared’s face bursts into full-on sunshine mode, and Jensen rolls his eyes, turning his face with the motion until he’s focused on the knot he’d just finished.

“Told you I would,” Misha answers, sounding as happy as Jared had looked when he sighted Misha.

Jensen double checks all his knots to find, yep, the knots are definitely finished. The knots are fine. Jensen tugs them just a notch tighter anyway.

The pealing of electronic bells from a cell phone breaks the moment, and Misha tells Jared to hang on a second. “Misha Collins,” he says smoothly as he answers. “Right,” Misha says after a moment. There’s a longer pause, filled with the sound of the dock creaking and waves lapping at the sides of the boat. “Okay. Hey, listen, I’m kind of in the middle of something right now. Can I call you back later? Thanks.”

Jensen should really leave and go do something else. His work here is done. But leaving to go below seems like an action that Misha would derive entirely too much pleasure from.

“Where were we?” Misha asks Jared. “Oh right,” he says, like he’s only just remembered, his tone overly bright and entirely too merry, and Jensen grinds his lower molars against his upper ones.

“You ready for a night off?” Misha asks as Jared steps off the boat—Jensen can feel it, the slight shift in weight beneath him.

“I think that’s exactly what I could use,” Jared replies, tired and sincere, and Jensen’s sure they’re hugging, or maybe staring meaningfully into each other’s eyes--probably both.

“I found this great place to eat,” Misha goes on. “You’re going to love it.”

“Lead the way,” Jared says and smiles.

Jensen doesn’t see him smile, but he _hears_ it.

“So how have things been going?” Misha asks as they start to walk back up the dock, and Jensen lifts his head, tilting it slightly to get a better view of them from behind. Misha’s got his arm slung around Jared’s massive shoulders, leaning his weight into Jared, head practically resting on Jared’s shoulder as he gazes up at Jared’s face.

“Pretty good,” Jared answers, and Jensen can see Jared’s brilliant smile in profile as Jared turns his face to look down at Misha. “I’ve been doing my dives, doing research.”

“Anything interesting?” Misha asks.

Jensen doesn’t hear Jared’s answer as they fall out of earshot. He rubs his thumbs and forefingers around the knots he’s tied, feeling the rough texture of rope scrape against the ridges of his fingertips, coarse and coiled.

Sitka is an interesting place for Misha to turn up, considering he could only have reached it by air or boat. It’s not the easiest place he could’ve met up with Jared. But then, Misha strikes Jensen as the arrogant rich type, who came from money and can go wherever he wants.

Still… why this stop?

And why does he care? The sun is setting. He’s got dinner to warm up, an extremely invasive book to finish reading, and sleep to not get before they set out in the morning.

He turns around to find Chad standing behind him, blue eyes narrowed in the direction Misha and Jared went. 

Chad glances at Jensen as Jensen looks at him, asking “What?” single syllable like the crack of a whip.

Jensen presses his lips together, shaking his head. “Nothing at all.”

He’s stepping forward, about to move past Chad when Chad speaks again.

“You don’t like him, either. I saw that the moment I got on this boat.”

Jensen pulls up short, looking at Chad again. “Are you actually talking to me?”

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Chad says in no uncertain terms as he eyes Jensen. “I don’t like you. You’re an asshat for doing what you did to Jared. There is, in fact, only one person on the face of the planet I think is an even bigger asshat than you—and Misha is that person.”

Jensen’s jaw pulls to one side, mouth not quite smirking. “So we should bond over our mutual dislike?”

“No, asshat. I’m saying if even _you_ \--who previously held the title belt for ‘Biggest Asshat of All Time’ and lost it to Misha--don’t like him, then there’s something really wrong going on there.”

“Sometimes people make bad choices,” Jensen says with a shrug that doesn’t feel as casual as the motion as itself.

“No shit.” Chad gives Jensen a look that clearly says; ‘Jared cares about _you_ , duh’. 

Chad shifts his stance, folding his arms across his chest as he considers Jensen, his eyes calculating. “But the thing I’m confused about, is why _you_ don’t like Misha. Is it because you actually cared about Jared and still care about him and are too stubborn to pull your own head out of your ass—like, is it simple jealousy? Is it because you, like me, get that there’s something weird about him? A combination of both?” Chad thumbs the side of his chin and then tucks his hand back into the crook of his elbow, taking a deep breath, crossed arms puffing up and out. “Or is it just because he rubbed you the wrong way?”

The truth is, Jensen doesn’t know, himself. It could be any one of those things, or “D: All of the above”. 

“I rank number two on your list for Biggest Asshat of All Time,” Jensen says, corner of his mouth curling. “I’m not sure what you’re expecting from me.”

“How about anything approaching honesty?” Chad shoots back.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Jensen says, smiling and crossing his arms over his chest as he leans into Chad’s space, lowering his voice as he says, succinctly, “I don’t like you. I don’t know you. And I. Don’t. Owe. You. Shit. Least of all honesty.”

Chad’s mouth curves in a hard smile as he stares Jensen down. “Maybe not. But you owe it to Jared.”

Jensen pushes even further into Chad’s personal space, chin scarce inches from his. “Fuck. Off,” Jensen whispers. He pulls away from Chad, weight shifting, and walks around him.

“You know when all you’ve got left is ‘fuck off’, you’ve lost the argument,” Chad remarks from behind him. 

Jensen flips him off over his shoulder as he walks down the companionway.

 

*

 

Jensen doesn’t cook much; mostly he makes a big kettle of soup from scratch, stores it in the fridge and warms it up bowl by bowl, meal by meal. He does love cooking to a certain degree, derives pleasure from adding fresh ingredients and spicing it just right. He just usually doesn’t take the time to make much more than soup unless he’s on a break from doing tourist rides, because soup is an easy thing to store and warm up in the microwave. Breakfast is coffee, lunch is usually sandwiches with chips and maybe some raw veggies if he hasn’t run out since his last shopping trip. 

He ladles soup from the container into a bowl, puts it into the microwave and gets it going.

Chad walks down the stairs into the common area, and Jensen doesn’t look at him, sees him from the peripheral of his vision. “What, you’re not going out on the town? Staying here and arguing with me is really that much fun?” 

He feels more than sees the nasty look Chad throws in his direction. Chad walks straight to his cabin and comes back out almost instantly, holding a bottle of alcohol.

“I challenge you,” Chad says.

“If it’s to a duel, I don’t own a sword,” Jensen says, head lolling in Chad’s direction.

“To a drinking contest,” Chad clarifies; iterating the words like Jensen’s a dumbass.

“And the point would be?” Jensen asks as he opens the microwave, setting his bowl down on the counter and stirring it. 

“Getting you wasted in the hopes you’ll spill all your secrets.” Chad rolls his eyes so hard Jensen’s surprised they don’t rattle. “To beat your ass without actually having to hit you, duh.”

“Hitting me is not without its merits,” Jensen remarks, mild and sarcastically matter of fact.

“Oh, believe me,” Chad snorts, fingers flexing around the neck of the bottle. “If I didn’t think Jared would be pissed at me forever for it, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“And this seems like an acceptable alternative to you?” Jensen asks, eyeing the bottle held in Chad’s grip.

“Wow,” Chad’s tone is disbelieving. “You work this whole sardonic thing like you’re trying for an award, don’t you?”

“I do my best,” Jensen shrugs.

“This is how people settle shit without violence,” Chad asserts, holding up the bottle in front of Jensen’s face. “You are familiar with the concept of a _drinking contest_ , right?”

Jensen looks down at his soup bowl, still stirring. “You’d never win. I drink way too much for you to be able to beat me.” He looks back up at Chad then, expression deadpan. “No, seriously, I’ve got a problem.”

Chad shakes his head back and forth, staring at Jensen. “Are you fucking with me?”

Jensen just smiles at him, enigmatic.

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

Jared staggers down onto the boat, and shit he’s had too much to drink, because the sudden swaying motion underneath his feet nearly makes him lose his balance and fall. He grabs onto the railing, using it for balance as he walks carefully in the direction of the cabin doorway. The stairs prove trickier to navigate, and he clings to the railing, pushing his shoulder against the wall.

When he reaches the bottom, he stops, swaying back and forth as he stares. 

Chad and Jensen are sitting at the table in the common area, a nearly empty liquor bottle between them, staring back at him. There are more glasses on the table than there are people to drink from them, and they’re all filled with various levels of liquor, except the one that’s rolling around on the floor in time with the swaying of the boat. Jensen’s got his guitar slung across his lap, and when Chad shoots Jensen a look, Jensen starts playing a tune—

“You are soooooooo fired,” Chad sings, and Jensen’s guitar accompaniment is pretty much perfect—they must have practiced this, Jesus Christ. “I have a neeeeeeeeew best friend, and his name is Jenny.” 

Jared thinks there might be a few more lines, but he’s too stunned to catch them. When they’ve finished, Jensen does a quick little strum on his guitar, and Chad gives Jared the huge, shit-eating grin that only the truly shitfaced can achieve. He looks indescribably proud of himself, and even Jensen’s got a smile twisting his lips.

“Wow,” Jared says. “I…” He rubs a hand across his face and blinks at them a few times. “I really need to go to bed.”

“Sit down, motherfucker,” Chad says, and Jared—who had every intention of going to bed—does, because he’s so drunk he automatically obeys, staggering and falling onto the bench seat next to Chad.

Chad pushes one of the liquor-filled glasses at Jared. “So,” he leans closer to Jared, “how was dinner with Douchebaggius?”

“Douchebaggius?” Jensen echoes like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

“Did I stutter, Captain Asshat?” Chad asks.

“I guess we’re not best friends anymore,” Jensen says, tipping up his glass.

“Of course we are. You know you love me, Jenny,” Chad grins, tilting his head and winking at Jensen.

“I have zero reasons to love you, Chaddy. Zero.”

They say the words as smoothly as if they’d long ago perfected this exchange into a routine and Jesus how long was Jared _gone_? For reasons unknown to Jared, Jensen’s final words send Chad into a fit of laughter, and Jensen’s smiling again as he takes another drink from his glass.

“What… what happened while I was gone?”

“Oh,” Chad says, with an air of nonchalance. “I challenged Jenny to a fight.”

Jared ponders that sentence for a full minute before he responds. “That… would make sense if you two were in jail right now.” Jared thinks about that for a second. “Or dead.” He pauses again. “Or the entire town was on fire.”

“S’not as interesting as your date,” Chad remarks.

“No, this is _way_ more interesting,” Jared insists.

Chad grabs for his glass, fingers closing around empty air. Chad frowns, staring at his drink like he can mentally force it into his head, tries picking it up more carefully, ending up with a handful of air once again. On the third try, he manages to hit the rim of the glass with his fingertips and knock it over, liquid spilling off the table into his lap in a clear, steady stream. All of this seems perfectly normal to Jared as Chad puts his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his upturned hand, staring at Jared with rapt attention. “Did Misha take you dancing after dinner?”

Jared can feel his cheeks heat up, notices Jensen glancing at him like he’s curious about the answer. “Yeah,” Jared says, flustered. “So?”

Chad’s eyebrows rise high on his forehead, and he turns his attention from Jared to Jensen, spinning in place on the bench seat. He puts the elbow of his other arm on the table and assumes the same pose of rapt attention, this time directing it at Jensen. “Did you hear that, Jenny? Misha took him dancing.”

Jensen’s expression is neutral as he regards Chad. “I heard.”

“How does that make you feel?” Chad asks, leaning even closer to Jensen, staring him down.

Jensen stares back, expression unchanging, not moving an inch even though they’re so close he has to be breathing in Chad’s noxious gin breath. “Like we should sing another song.”

Jensen plays out the beginning notes to a song they both know, and Chad’s either content to let it go or so drunk he forgot he asked a question, because he pulls back from Jensen looking happy at the prospect of singing some more. Chad and Jensen come in on the first verse.

_“Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road_  
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go  
So make the best of this test, and don't ask why  
It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time” 

Jared joins them in the next verse, and he and Chad sound like crap compared to Jensen, but Jensen’s singing his heart out like he’s loving it and Chad’s drumming his hands on the table, really getting into it, so Jared leans up against Chad, pressing their cheeks together, both of them completely hamming it up.

_“It's something unpredictable, but in the end that's right,  
I hope you had the time of your life.”_

By the end of the song, Chad and Jared are laughing and even Jensen seems pleased.

“Shit,” Chad laughs, nudging Jared with his elbow. “I feel like we should all show off our scars or something.”

Jensen chuckles, and Jared blinks, confused. He isn’t sure why they should be showing off…

“Scars,” Jared says, catching on. “I’ve got one right here.”

It’s low enough on his hip that he has to unbutton and unzip his pants and tug down the left side of his jeans and briefs. It’s about two inches long and a quarter inch across, riding along the outer ridge of bone. It’s faded white now, but it had been deep at the time. He looks up, remembering that he’s probably supposed to tell the story of how he got it.

Jensen’s eyes are fixed on Jared’s exposed hip until the moment Jared looks up, and then Jensen’s eyes track upward along his body until they lock on Jared’s. It could be the alcohol, or the dim lighting or both, but for a moment, Jensen’s looking at Jared completely open and unguarded, his eyes filled with heat and want so obvious that Jared’s heart speeds up. He can feel the blood rush through his veins with answering heat, skin suddenly going electric.

That’s when Chad leans over the table between them and throws up.

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

Jared tries to help Jensen get Chad to his cabin and then clean up, but he stumbles and slips in the mess and almost hits his head on the table before Jensen catches him, sits him back down and orders him to stay put.

When Jensen’s done cleaning up, Jared’s sitting up at the edge of the bench seat, facing outward off the side, his head beginning to droop with sleepiness. Jensen walks over to Jared and crouches down on the floor in front of him, looking up at him from under the curtain of Jared’s hair. 

“You doing okay?”

Jared lifts his head up a little then and nods. “Yeah. I’m not gonna be sick or anything, anyway.”

“All right, let’s get you to bed.” Jensen pushes to his feet and slides his hands under Jared’s arms to help him get on his feet. Jared manages to balance, using Jensen as a stabilizer, and Jensen realizes then that his pants are still undone and are in danger of sliding down past his hips.

Jesus.

“Hang on. Here, lean back against the wall okay.” Jensen’s not entirely sober, but he shouldn’t have as much trouble as he does getting Jared zipped and buttoned up. He’s trying not to look too closely, for one, and for two he’s trying not to touch anything except Jared’s jeans. All the times Jensen had imagined them half clothed he sure as hell hadn’t been putting Jared’s clothes _on_. 

He finally manages to get the job done, and when he looks back up at Jared, Jared’s looking at him intently, more alert than he’d been a couple minutes ago.

“So how’d you get the scar?” Jensen asks, trying to keep things casual.

“Diving accident,” Jared says, reaching for the button on his jeans like he feels the need to show Jensen the scar again while he talks about it. Jensen catches his hands, holding them still, and Jared relaxes against the wall. “My BCD had some issues; my buoyancy got out of whack. I was diving alone in this old boat wreck and I cut myself pretty badly on a sharp piece of metal. I was down really deep and lost a lot of blood on the way back up. So much I thought I might pass out a few times and not make it to the surface.”

“Jesus, Jared.” Jensen’s momentarily surprised by the feeling of protectiveness that surges through him, bright and fierce as it had been years ago, balanced with the sensation of dread in the pit of his stomach. “You could’ve died.”

Jared could have died, and there wouldn’t have been anything Jensen could do about it, because Jensen hadn’t been there to look out for him.

“I got lucky,” Jared agrees. He tilts his head, looking at Jensen then, eyes narrowing on Jensen slightly, mouth curving in a smile. “Don’t tell me you might have cared?” The way he says it, gently teasing and not an ounce of bitterness, smile widening into a brilliant grin.

Jared’s face always _was_ one step away from some kind of Disney movie scene where the sun bursts joyously from behind the clouds and into song. Jensen remembers all the times he hadn’t been able to look at Jared directly in the face because it felt like too much. He thinks about that light going out, of the world being deprived of it, of knowing Jared was dead, and realizes how much it would hurt, how very, incredibly much he would care. 

Jensen’s chin tilts in the barest of nods as he looks into Jared’s eyes. “Yeah,” Jensen’s voice is low and rough as he makes the admission. “I’d care.”

“Jensen.” His name tumbles out of Jared’s mouth in a breathy whisper.

Jared leans forward, tipping his chin down toward Jensen’s, and Jensen turns his face upward, taking in a slow breath, eyes fluttering closed in the moment before their mouths meet. Gentle press of their lips together, barely any pressure, but the feeling of Jared’s mouth finally against his hits him like a drug, sudden rush through his veins. And then Jensen parts his lips, lets his tongue swirl out across Jared’s lower lip, Jared opening for him instantly, sweeping his tongue across Jensen’s and tangling with it, circling sleek, and then Jared’s got his hands on Jensen’s face, kissing down into him with ferocious need, Jensen surging up and meeting him. It’s intoxicating, lightning and fire winding through every nerve, and Jesus, he’s waited eight years to feel this, to _do_ this and suddenly he can’t think of a single reason why—

Jared pulls back abruptly, pausing and giving Jensen another one of his intent looks. “Jensen, you know how we were talking about me dancing earlier?”

Jensen blinks at Jared for several seconds that feel like eternity, trying to catch his breath, get his heart to slow down, and then Jensen realizes entirely how wasted Jared actually is if he can break off in the middle of a kiss like _that_.

He’s still grabbing Jensen’s face with his huge hands, unsteady on his feet, and Jensen has to reach up and plant his hands on Jared’s chest to keep him from falling into Jensen and knocking him down . Jared’s eyelids are fluttering rapidly, only making it about halfway up. “Remember when…” Jared’s head is drooping like a swiftly dying flower toward his chest, “you were the one who… taught...” 

Jared goes limp then, and Jensen has to catch him, taking the full dead weight of him. He struggles for a second not to go down, finally getting his feet planted underneath him and stabilizing them. 

Fucking Christ. That was… God he isn’t even _sure_ what that was.

It takes him a minute or two to work his way from his current position to getting Jared’s arms wrapped around his neck from behind without dropping Jared or falling with Jared landing on top of him and possibly crushing him to death. Jared is incredibly heavy at full dead weight, but Jensen manages to get him into bed. Tugs off Jared shoes and arranges his long limbs comfortably against the mattress. 

Moonlight shines in through the narrow slice of window, illuminating Jared’s face and upper body, and he’s beautiful, even with his skin tinted milk pale. He looks so at peace, and there are so few things Jensen is glad about in his lifetime, but standing here over the boy he used to know, the boy who’s grown into this wonderful man, Jensen is glad nothing ever took away Jared’s innocence, his unflagging love and hope, his huge, gigantic heart.

Jensen takes in the peaceful expression on Jared’s face and wonders if Jared will even remember any of this tomorrow.

He knows how Jared’s last sentence would have ended. _Remember how you were the one who taught me to dance?”_

\-- _“I don’t know how to dance.” Jared seems almost embarrassed by the admission._

_“It’s just like sailing a boat. It’s always a matter of finding the rhythm,” Jensen tells him, hands and feet pulling Jared into motion, tugging him upward from the cushions of the deck seat._

_“I’m don’t know if I have rhythm,” Jared confesses._

_“You do.”--_

Jensen sighs and pulls the blankets up over Jared, tucking him in carefully before he leaves, closing the door behind him.

He takes his memories with him.

 

*

 

_Jensen knows Jared has rhythm because he’s intimately familiar with the way Jared walks and moves; has seen the way Jared has taken to ship decks and swimming underwater with a natural grace that says he’s always belonged there. Jensen knows this about Jared because Jared is his student and therefore under his care, and part of his job is to watch Jared and make sure he’s doing okay. Jensen knows because he’s constantly watching Jared’s body language. And if he’s honest, Jensen knows because it’s hard to take his eyes **off** Jared._

_Long-limbed and lithely muscled with the energy level of a puppy, Jared should be a complete disaster. But he isn’t. He’s **this** ; gliding in Jensen’s arms on the deck of the ship, following Jensen’s motions easily within a few practice steps, and Jensen thinks maybe it’s just **them** , that they fit together this way like they do in every other way, like they’ve done from the moment they’ve met._

_Both of them laugh as they turn, Jared, spinning beneath the sun with him in the middle of the ocean, his fingers laced through Jensen’s. Two and half months, almost the whole summer gone he’s known this boy, and Jensen knows him so well, so much better than he wishes he did. Knows the feel of him so close, the way his fingers tighten through his. The way Jared seems to understand Jensen more than Jensen ever thought anyone could._

_The way that, despite everything, Jensen **wants** to stay here, just like this, grinning and turning circles on the deck of a ship, the two of them happy together, completely alone in the world._

God, Jensen hasn’t thought about that in so long. Thinking about it now, he suspects he’s been suppressing the memory on purpose, because…

They’d been so happy… fuck was he ever really that happy? That young?

That in love?

His brain stutters hard against the thought even though it comes so naturally—stutters and staggers and nearly stops. All at once overwhelmed and reeling, the way he’s only ever felt when he realized something so huge and important and life-changing that he forgets to breathe. So stunned because he can’t believe he’d never understood it before this instant.

Fuck, he’d been so in love, head over heels in stupid love and he hadn’t even realized it because he’d never felt it like that before.

Or maybe he _had_ known, and just couldn’t admit it.

He can see it like he’s there—like he’d never left. The two of them blazing bright as the sun above them, fingers intertwined, both of them burning from the inside out everywhere they touch and everywhere they don’t, want and hope and need and love stitching their souls together at every point.

Jensen sits down on his bed and closes his eyes, rubbing his hands over his face--slow, steady breaths in and out, fingertips pressing into the flesh of his face. He knows it’s late and he’s been drinking, and this is probably not a good time to be thinking about things too deeply… but that sunlit memory etched into his brain, both of them spinning so fast he almost felt weightless, breathless with laughter, every single moment so clear it’s almost tangible, feels like the biggest truth he’s ever realized.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Jared wakes up confused. He phone insists it’s after 10am, and he thinks maybe he’s misreading it because for some reason he has to squint with one eye against the sunlight to read it. Also, he’s in bed and still dressed in all his clothes from yesterday, but without shoes, and his head—

Oh GOD, his _head_.

The headache suddenly registers and he slaps the heel of his palm against his forehead, which is a HUGE mistake, because he feels his brain rattle inside his skull and the pain spikes so hard that for a second he thinks he might have knocked himself out.

But no, it turns out he hasn’t, because the pain doesn’t actually go away; it just slowly recedes.

God what did he do--?

The memories come rushing back: Misha, dinner, drinking, dancing, Chad and Jensen, singing, Chad throwing up, and Jensen…

Fuck. Did he _kiss_ Jensen last night?

Did he _kiss_ Jensen last night and then **pass out**?

Oh God. He must have made a complete idiot out of himself. Fuck. How is he ever going to look Jensen in the face again?

 

*

 

He shakes several ibuprofen out of the bottle before he does anything else, washing them down with handfuls of water from the bathroom sink. Drags his wet hands down his face, fingers closing around his chin as he opens his eyes, looks at himself in the mirror.

His eyes are red and he looks a little paler than usual, but he doesn’t look nearly as wrecked as he feels. The ibuprofen will get rid of the pounding in his head, a shower will get him clean and a change of clothes might make him feel a bit better.

But it won’t help him know how to deal with this situation any better.

 _He_ kissed Jensen. He _kissed_ Jensen. He kissed _Jensen_.

No matter which word he decides to put the emphasis on in that sentence, it’s not turning out any better. There’s only bad, worse and oh my god what the fuck were you thinking? Not necessarily in that order.

He pulls on a gray t-shirt and a pair of jeans, runs his fingers through his damp hair one last time and takes a deep breath.

Time to face the music and own up to being the maestro.

 

*

 

Jensen’s sitting at the table in the common room; spoon caught between his thumb and forefinger as he slowly stirs his mug of coffee. He’s wearing a threadbare, white, v-necked t-shirt, which for Jensen is practically naked, and it hugs the curves of his pecs so thin and close Jared can practically see his bare chest, white setting off the tanned tone of his skin, and he looks as gorgeous as he always does, not the slightest bit hung over, and none of these things seem fair. 

Guilt, shame, and remorse; these are the qualities that are Jared. His body seems to shrink upon itself, flesh encasing him feeling too tight, muscles beneath moving awkwardly. A marionette with his strings cut and he has no idea how to do this. Nineteen all over again and why he ever thought this trip was a good idea, he doesn’t know.

_The way out is through_

He takes a breath and slides into the seat across from Jensen.

“Morning,” Jensen says, eyes only flicking up to register Jared briefly before returning to his mug. Which is terse, even for Jensen. Jared can only imagine how angry he must be at Jared for grabbing at him and slobbering all over his face.

_You got drunk; you got out of line. Suck it up. Deal with it._

“Hey,” Jared says, softly. “About last night…” Jared hesitates for so long that he starts to feel Jensen feel like he _has_ to look up at Jared, meet his eyes, and if Jensen does that, he’ll never get through this. “I…” Jared clears his throat, pushes on. “I don’t know what happened there. I’m sorry. I was really, really crazy drunk and… I hope you’re not mad at me.”

Jensen seems to draw into himself even further, posture shrinking as he pulls the spoon from his coffee, sets it down on the table. “No. I’m not mad.”

Jared had expected biting sarcasm, or even genuine anger, but this—this just makes him feel worse. 

“Jensen… I shouldn’t have--”

“Sometimes things happen,” Jensen cuts him off, moving one hand slightly back and forth as if to wave it off. But he’s still not looking at Jared.

God, Jared fucked this up. He so fucked this up. An entire summer and he’d never made a move on Jensen. Drunk as fuck eight years later and he can’t keep his mouth off of Jensen’s. This is all his fault.

“Yeah…” Jared says after a long, uncomfortable silence, not knowing what else to say. “Right,” he nods.

Chad’s door opens then, and he scuffles out, eyes red and puffy, his face pale as milk. Chad is clad only in his underwear and one sock dangling precariously from his foot as he half staggers up to them, planting his hands on the table between them.

Jared waits for Chad to say something—to break the tension in the room—but all he does is stand there and stare at them not looking at each other for a long moment that takes the silence from uncomfortable to taut to actually screaming.

“Oh God,” Chad groans. “Did you two fuck?” He looks back and forth between the two of them again. “Oh my God, you DID, didn’t you?”

Jared flushes and fidgets, wanting to crawl under the table and die, and when he risks a glance across the table, he sees Jensen’s muscles wound so tight he looks like he might implode.

Chad pushes his hands against the air in both of their directions. “No. NO. If there was buttsex on this boat last night I don’t wanna know.”

Chad stops, then, catching his head in his hands and holding tight. “Fuck, I am way too hung over for this shit.” He turns, starts off for the stairs then, calling back to them, “Goodbye friends, I am throwing myself into the ocean.”

“Have fun,” Jensen calls after him. 

Jared returns his attention to Jensen, glad that Chad’s exit seems to have released the tension in the room, but now he’s feeling vaguely concerned about Chad. “He might actually do it. I think he’s still drunk.” 

Jensen flashes Jared a huge, hard grin, toasting the air with his cup of coffee. “Here’s hoping.”

Well, at least that’s more like Jensen. Like the Jensen he knows now, anyway.

“No, really. We should stop him.”

“You take the fun out of everything,” Jensen says with a shake of his head.

 

*

 

They find Chad sprawled on the deck; neck turned awkwardly against the starboard gunwale, arms vaguely wrapped around his chest, snoring so hard the deck vibrates. Clad in boxer briefs, one sock barely dangling from the toes of his right foot, naked besides.

“So lucky we stopped him,” Jensen comments with extreme sarcasm. 

“Better than scraping him off the ocean floor, or finding pieces of him on the shore,” Jared responds, wrapping one arm under and around Chad’s shoulder’s. 

“And yet I find myself rooting for these endings,” Jensen’s tone is wry. 

“A little help?” Jared asks.

Jensen sighs, and then gets his arm up and under around the other side of Chad, the two of them pulling Chad to his feet. Chad’s head lolls right, falling against Jensen’s shoulder. Jensen cuts his eyes down at Chad’s slack, snoring face, and then looks up at Jared. “We could still throw him overboard. There’s still time.”

Jared can’t help but laugh, the delivery of the words matter of fact and yet sarcastically hopeful.

“He said I was his new best friend, doesn’t that mean I get to decide?” Jensen asks.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Jensen sighs heavily and helps Jared drag Chad toward the stairs.

 

*

 

The early half of today is basically what most people would consider a layover, but in a good way. It’s time to rest, restock, and research—the three R’s. 

Chad’s still out cold when Jared sets off into town, intent on restocking supplies and food. 

Jared finds a store inside a two story building that he would have mistaken for a residential home if it weren’t for the hand-painted wooden sign hanging from the roof of the first floor proclaiming it as, “Sitka General Store”. 

Jared takes his time picking out his purchases, and when he gets to the check-out counter—which is a simple wooden counter and old-fashioned cash register containing nothing resembling a conveyor belt—he meets Mavis, the owner of the store. Turns out, Mavis used to run the store with her husband Percy, but Percy passed away a few years back, so now she does it all herself.

Mavis—who’s eighty if she’s a day, wizened and wrinkled like an adorable walnut with white hair on top—is very concerned about the length of the trip Jared is taking compared against the food he’s buying, giving him sage advice on how long every single thing she rings up will last.

“Perishables aren’t a thing to be laughed at,” she assures him as she rings up a carton of milk.

“No ma’am,” Jared agrees, shaking his head.

She carefully arranges the milk into the box she’s been steadily filling. “You seem like a good sort,” she comments as she turns to look at him. “What are you doing way out here?”

“Research,” he replies. “I’m a marine biologist,” he adds.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” she smiles. “Got your own boat?” she asks, ringing up a carton of eggs.

“No ma’am. I’m chartering.”

“Really?” she asks, pausing on her way to loading the eggs on top of the box. “Which boat?”

“Serenity.”

“Oh, Jensen’s boat,” she says, face lighting up.

“You know him?” Jared asks, surprised.

“All of us know Jensen. He’s been working this route for two years. He’s one of the good ones,” she assures Jared, finishing her placement of the egg carton. 

And Jared knows Jensen, but the Jensen he knows now… he wouldn’t have expected this kind of reaction. “One of the good ones?” 

“He’s always polite as can be,” she says, pulling the flaps of the box up around his purchases. “Funny, too. And he won’t let me lift a finger whenever he comes in except to ring him up.”

It’s strange to Jared that this woman _knows_ Jensen at all, even a little bit, given how extremely private Jensen seems to be.

“One time,” she says as she turns to look at Jared, “I had a whole shelf go down in the cleaning supplies section and he didn’t leave until he’d fixed it and put everything back on the shelves. Most people wouldn’t have given it a thought, but he insisted.”

“Wow,” Jared says after a moment, trying to picture Jensen doing all that. 

“Plus he’s not exactly hard on the eyes.” Mavis tips him a wink, eyes glittering with a hint of mischief.

 _Tell me about it_ Jared thinks. “He… you know, I gotta be honest. He doesn’t seem like the friendliest person.”

“Oh, he’s not,” Mavis agrees, easily. “He’s locked up tighter than a drum, that one. I don’t know anything about his life before he started running this route. But he’s still one of the good ones,” Mavis says, features crinkling in a smile. “Doesn’t have to be friendly for me to know that.”

Jared has so many questions, each one born and dying on his tongue. 

“That’ll be fifty-three thirteen,” she concludes, ringing him up.

 

*

 

This is a balancing act, Jared thinks, juggling boxes in his arms, and fuck, he’d been doing so well all the way here, it’s that one step down onto the boat that proves to be too much, weight falling forward, body jerking backward to counterbalance, and he’s almost, _almost_ got it. So close. And then, the box at the furthest edge of his reach tumbles over, and there’s nothing he can do, can only close his eyes and clench his fingers with empty hope. 

He lifts his foot, tries to break the impact at least with that—but it never makes contact.

Jared opens his eyes, sees Jensen standing in front of him, holding the errant box.

“Why didn’t you use a mule?” Jensen asks, lifting and balancing the box on one shoulder. “I mean, we _are_ in the mountains.”

_\--“Why do you put the boat equipment on a mule? I mean we’re not exactly in the mountains.”--_

Jensen is… quoting from the moment they’d very first met, making a joke, and Jared almost drops the rest of his boxes, because the look on Jensen’s face--God, so open as he grins--is nearly heart stopping.

It’s only a brief moment, but it stays with Jared for most of the day.

*

They make two diving stops on the way to Douglas, and when Jared emerges from the second one, climbing onto the boat, Jensen is kneeling down on the deck, cleaning one of a pair of fish he apparently caught with the fishing rod set off to the side.

“You were fishing?” Jared asks as he pops the regulator out of his mouth.

Jensen glances up at him, squinting in the sunlight, corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles, and God, he’s so beautiful it’s almost blinding. “Figured I could do something useful with the time.”

Jared smiles back as Chad clambers on board.

 

*

 

“I need to get off this boat,” Chad proclaims when they dock in Douglas that evening. “I need women. I need tits and ass. It’s a fuckin sausage fest up in here.”

“We haven’t even been on the boat a week yet,” Jared says in disbelief.

“Says the guy who got laid his third night here,” Chad snorts.

“We didn’t have sex,” Jared protests.

“Whatever.” Chad runs a hand through his spiky hair, eyeing it critically in the bathroom mirror. “You’ve got plenty of eye candy with your ex-whatever the fuck he was on board, _and_ you’ve got Misha trying to get in your pants. There a reason you haven’t hit that yet?” 

Jared shrugs, leaning against the doorway. “I don’t know. He’s good looking, and charming and all… I guess I’m interested in other things.”

“Oh yeah, right,” Chad nods. “Like _pining_. And _moping_.”

Jared rolls his eyes. “I thought you didn’t like Misha, anyway.”

“I don’t. But it’s not like I have to _like_ him for you to bang him. Hell, _you_ don’t even have to like him. I’ve banged plenty of chicks I didn’t like.”

“That’s because you’re a terrible person,” Jared tells him.

“Still the best thing that ever happened to you, baby,” Chad grins, blowing Jared a kiss.

 

*

 

A couple of hours later, after Chad’s gone, Jared is sitting in the common area going over data on his laptop when Jensen comes aboard the ship, back from his trip into town, a brown bag in his arms. Jared expects him to start putting things away, but then Jensen opens the fridge and pulls out the two fish he’d caught earlier in the day.

As Jared watches, Jensen takes a cutting board from one of the cabinets and sets it out. Then he pulls out a couple of bottles that look like wine and maybe vinegar, some smaller glass containers of spices, setting them all on the counter. He lays the fish out on the cutting board and then pulls a knife from a drawer, beginning to cut the fish efficiently into steak size, removing the skin, and then he glances over at Jared, saying, “I hope you like king salmon.”

Jensen… not only is Jensen cooking, but… “You’re cooking dinner for me?”

“Us,” Jensen nods agreeably as he turns his attention back to slicing up the fish. “I figured since Chad was going out, it might be nice. I picked up some fresh basil this afternoon, rice and fresh green beans for the sides, a few other things.”

He says it so naturally, like this is the most normal thing in the world, that for a moment Jared’s rendered speechless. Jensen’s never even sat down to eat near them, and now he’s making Jared dinner.

Jensen looks over at Jared, shooting him a small smile. “What? You didn’t think all I ate was soup, did you? I’d have made sushi if I’d had time, but that takes hours to do right.”

“It’s just…” Jared has no idea what to say that isn’t going to come out insulting. “I… you’re being nice to me?” Oh yeah, that’s good Jared, that’s great, Jesus fucking Christ.

“Thought I might try something new,” Jensen answers easily, like he’s not insulted.

“Why?” Jared blurts before he can stop himself.

Jensen pauses, setting the knife down, and then sets his hands down on either side of the cutting board. He’s not looking at Jared as he speaks, but down at the fish. “I… figured some things out last night. And… I know we can’t go back to the way things were; I’m not the same person. There’s no future for us in that respect.” 

Jared feels his heart sink into his stomach, biting down at the corner of his lower lip. No future based on their past, and Jared can’t understand that, can’t reconcile it. Still a stupid kid who feels everything too deeply, trapped in a summer that seems like a lifetime ago. He wishes like hell he’d never done this; Jensen clearly doesn’t want anything from him, never felt anything the way Jared felt, the way he still does.

Jensen shakes his head back and forth once, and then raises his gaze to the cabinet in front of him. “We can’t go back, and we can’t go forward from where we were. But there’s… I don’t think those are the only two options. Except I don’t think I know _how_ to be friends with people anymore,” Jensen says with a tilt of his head. “So I thought… at the very least, maybe I could be a little less of a dick.”

“That’s what you figured out last night?” Last night, after they’d kissed?

“No. I figured that out today.”

“So what did you figure out last night?” Jared asks, softly.

Jensen is silent for so long that Jared thinks he’s not going to answer. And then he says, quietly, “That I don’t know myself as well as I thought I did.”

It’s enigmatic at best, and Jared wants to ask what he means, but he’s got the feeling that’s all Jensen’s going to give him. Maybe all Jensen _can_ admit to him.

“So,” Jensen goes on, picking up the knife and slicing into the fish. “I thought I’d make us dinner.”

“Okay,” Jared nods stupidly after a moment. “That’s… that’ll be great.”

 

*

 

It does turn out to be pretty great. Jared gives up on his data and goes over to watch Jensen prepare the food. Jensen explains what he’s doing and why, why the flavor additions of brown sugar and ginger are so important among other things, and once the fish is in the small oven, he breaks open a bottle of white wine and pours them both a glass. It turns out he has actual wine glasses, which he explains he keeps for the tourists because they can’t really bring their own. He’s got champagne glasses tucked away as well.

A few minutes later, the rice is cooking away, and the green beans are slowly steaming as well, both of them spiced to what Jensen calls perfection, and twenty-odd minutes later, they’re sitting down to dinner at the table.

Jensen tells him crazy stories about tourists, and about the marine and wildlife he’s seen since he’s been here. Jared talks about some of the things he’s seen and done while diving, some of the crazier expeditions he’s been on. They talk, and it isn’t awkward. They don’t talk about the summer they spent together, or where Jensen was between that summer and settling in Alaska, or what Jared’s working on, or any of the other big things that are right there in front of them waiting to be talked about. But they have a good time, and they both laugh at each other’s stories, and it’s nice.

After the food is gone, Jared compliments him on his cooking skills, satisfied and extremely full. Jensen breaks open a second bottle of wine, and they continue sitting at the table drinking and talking about the smaller things through that bottle and then another.

Jared’s pretty drunk when there’s a lull in the conversation, Jensen looking at him like he’s considering something, and then Jensen sets his glass down.

“Jared. Last night…”

Jared doesn’t want to revisit the topic. “I’m sorry. Can we not talk about it, please?”

“Not that,” Jensen shakes his head. “Before you passed out…” A muscle works in Jensen’s jaw. “You asked me about you dancing. If I remembered that I taught you how.”

Jared has no memory of this. That seems like a really weird thing to say in between kissing Jensen and passing out. “I did?”

“You don’t remember,” Jensen nods, like that tells him what he needs to know.

“No. But what about it?”

“I was going to ask why you asked me that,” Jensen answers quietly, looking down at his empty wineglass.

Jared doesn’t understand why Jensen cares about the answer—but he knows the answer. Knows it all too well. He can feel the blood rush to his cheeks, and God, he’s never been a blusher—can count on his hands the times he’s blushed—all of them in Jensen’s presence. Hopes Jensen’s gaze is still focused on his wineglass so he doesn’t see.

“I know why I asked,” Jared answers, elbows pulling up onto the table, fingers threading as they make a single fist underneath his chin. Jared looks down at the table, focusing on Jensen’s hand. “Not why I asked _then_ , but I know why.”

Jensen’s toying at the rim of the glass, spinning it back and forth on its stem. “Why?”

“Because…” Jared takes in a deep breath, knowing the rest of what he has to say. “Chad asked me if Misha took me dancing and then asked you how you felt about it. And I probably…” Jared stops, takes a moment and squares his shoulders. “I _know_ … I wanted to tell you, that every time I dance with someone, I think about the first time I ever danced. When you taught me how.”

There’s a long moment of silence before Jensen responds. “That’s why you asked?”

“It’s the only reason I would’ve.” It’s past time for Jared to go to bed. He’s only had enough to drink that he thankfully recognizes that.

“So last night, when you danced with Misha… you were thinking about me?” Jensen’s voice is calm and even; just wanting to confirm what Jared had said.

“Jensen,” Jared says, taking in a breath, pulling together his courage as his lifts his gaze to look Jensen in the eye. “There’s very little I’ve ever done in my life since knowing you that I didn’t think about you.”

“Don’t say that,” Jensen breathes as his eyes flutter closed, shaking his head.

Jared reaches across the table, fingers settling across Jensen’s, stilling the motion of his hand on the glass. “Don’t tell me not to say that. You _asked_.” Jared swallows hard and he’s had enough to drink to loosen his tongue, shouldn’t be saying any of what he’s saying.

It doesn’t make it any less true.

“We’ve been drinking,” Jensen says, like it’s any kind of defense, settling the glass against the table, pulling his fingers from beneath Jared’s.

“Which makes it wrong, why?” Jared can’t help asking. Because yeah. He’s been drinking, but he’s pretty sure it wouldn’t make him want Jensen less.

Gorgeous man sitting across from him, older, lines creasing deeper into his face, and it only makes him more attractive. For the life of him, Jared will never be able to understand how the years gone by have made Jensen even more beautiful. Jensen had looked like golden God; like a Lost Boy when Jared had met him, acted like a wild thing that could only be loved without hope of being loved in return. Fully clothed now, vee of his t-shirt revealing the hollow of his throat, and Jared just wants to kiss the dip in Jensen’s skin. Whisper against that tanned skin how much he cares about Jensen. How he never stopped. How he always will.

“Because we can’t do anything about it,” Jensen replies. Jensen bites against his lower lip, draws away from Jared. “We have different lives now.”

“So why do I still care?” Jared asks, and he knows better than to ask, he really does, but he can’t stop himself.

“Because you’re an idiot.” The way Jensen says it is almost fond, smile twisting his lips.

It shouldn’t make Jared’s heart ache as much as it does.

“I should get to bed,” Jensen says after a moment, rising from the table. “Night, Jared.”

Jared watches Jensen’s door close, sighs, then heaves himself up from the table and goes to his own cabin.

 

*

 

The next morning, Chad looks like hell, but satisfied, and Jared guesses his mission was successful.

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

At the next port, Misha shows up shortly after they’ve docked. Jensen’s the only one on deck at the moment, and he motions for Misha to come on board even though he’d rather not. It would just be weird for Jensen to make him wait there and go get Jared _for_ Misha. Weird and also petty.

Misha doesn’t head straight down to the cabin, stopping instead in front of Jensen. “Does it drive you crazy, when I show up to take him out?”

Jensen blinks, vaguely surprised. He was pretty sure whatever Misha said wasn’t going to be good, but this—this feels intensely personal.

“Come on, Jensen,” Misha runs a finger down the zipper of Jensen’s jacket, leaning in closer, intense blue eyes boring into his. “I’ve seen how you look at him.”

Jensen narrows his eyes at Misha, anger rising up in him like a dark cloud. “You’ve got two seconds to take your hand off me before I break every bone in it.”

Misha draws his hand away, but he doesn’t move out of Jensen’s personal space, considering Jensen with a strange kind of curiosity. “I just can’t figure out why you don’t do anything about it.”

“And I can’t figure out why I haven’t hit you, yet,” Jensen replies, an edge of danger to his level voice. “Figuring it out even less every second you’re standing in my space.”

Misha takes a step back, eyes raking up and down Jensen’s body once before he nods, almost like he’s satisfied with something he sees in Jensen. Then he turns and heads below deck to find Jared.

Jensen clenches and unclenches his fists several times until he can breathe normally again.

 

*

 

The sun is just coming up over the horizon when Jensen steps on deck. He’s surprised when, a few minutes later, Jared walks up the dock. His heart sinks in his chest as he considers what Jared being out all night means and he shoves the feeling away—it’s none of his business what Jared’s been doing.

“I didn’t know you weren’t back,” Jensen says as Jared boards the boat. “Another few minutes and I would’ve left without you.”

Jared rubs at his eyes sleepily. “Sorry. I fell asleep in his hotel room.”

Jensen can guess why, and he doesn’t care for the way it makes him feel. The way it makes words well behind his lips, flying free before he considers them completely.

“What the hell do you even like about him?” Because seriously, what is Jared doing dating an asshole like that? He deserves better.

Jared breathes in slowly, morning wind making his hair dance around his face. “I don’t, really. I mean, I like him, but I don’t _like_ him. Not like that.”

“So what are you doing hanging out with him?” Jensen asks, confused and—he can’t help but note—relieved.

“He’s EPA,” Jared says after a moment.

“He’s what?” Jensen asks, dumbfounded.

“He’s EPA,” Jared repeats, and the words still don’t make much sense to Jensen. “He took a special interest in my work.”

“Yeah, in your ‘work’,” Jensen snorts, because that much he understands.

Jensen’s sarcasm seems to sail right over Jared’s head. “He’s not involved in an official capacity, of course. The EPA couldn’t be caught taking an official part in something like this. But he read one of my papers and--”

“Wait,” Jensen says as the words register, holding up a hand, because this is an entirely different thing. “The fucking _EPA_ has taken a special interest in what you’re doing out here?”

“Unofficially,” Jared agrees with an incline of his head, orange light of the rising sun catching along the line of his cheekbone, the edge of his nose. “He read one of my papers on the subject and contacted me, said--”

Jensen holds up both hands then, shaking his head. “No. I don’t want to know any more.” Because he’s seen some of what Jared’s been doing, and the full picture of what Jared’s researching has been tickling at the back of his brain for a while now. And he knows more than anything that he doesn’t want to be any more involved than he already is.

The fucking EPA? Christ.

Jared clears his throat and looks down at the deck, and Jensen can’t see him very well, most of his face lost to shadow, but he knows if he could he’d see that wounded puppy look on Jared’s face. Jared nods then, and turns his face away, out toward the water and the rising sun.

It’s then that Jared finally asks. It’s then and Jensen should have known it was coming.

“What happened to you, Jensen?” Jared voice is so low it’s barely audible, breeze catching in his hair, long strands tossed through the air, and all Jensen can see is his silhouette cut against the brightness of the rising sun. “You used to care about this kind of stuff.”

Jensen isn’t prepared for the questions now like he was before, Jared catching him so off guard that he feels his stomach curdle; opens his mouth, closes it, then takes a breath. Hell, he was never prepared.

 _What happened to you?_ The disappointment in Jared hurts more than Jensen thought it could. He feels the desire to tell Jared rise up inside him, burning in his blood, winding through every nerve, certainty in him that if he could, it would change things between them. Jensen can imagine the release he would feel, being able to finally share the truth with someone, and Jared would finally know, would understand. 

And then he imagines trying to speak the actual words; feels his throat close up and lock down tight, the way his heart begins to beat out of control, fingernails digging into the palm of his hand and itching for a drink. He takes a breath and steadies himself, letting the words fall away.

“I grew up,” he replies, gruff.

It’s as much of the truth as he can give Jared.

Jared turns his head back and forth slightly. “Come on, Jensen. Are you really not ever going to tell me?”

“I’ve never told anyone,” Jensen replies evenly. “And I’m not looking to start. Ever. Not even with you.”

“Was it that bad?” The concern threading Jared’s voice hurts even more than Jared’s earlier disappointment. Damn him. Why does he have to care so goddamned much? Why can’t he just leave Jensen alone, like anyone else would?

“I’ve already said all I’m going to say about it.”

Jared sighs, and Jensen can hear defeat in the sound.

It doesn’t make him feel any better.

“You should eat something and drink some water,” Jensen tells him. “You look like hell and we’ve only got two hours to the next dive spot.

Jared doesn’t reply, just walks past Jensen and disappears below deck.

 

*

 

Jared’s words don’t leave him as easily as Jared does, though, and they nibble at the back of Jensen’s mind like tiny fish, unrelenting during the next two hours. Jensen can’t ignore it—the feeling of something base and primitive trying to struggle to the surface. He can’t quite grasp the shape of it; he just knows it’s there.

After Jared and Chad disappear into the water, Jensen pulls out his cellphone—which he keeps only for work purposes—and looks up the number of someone he hasn’t spoken to in years. He hesitates a moment, and then dials it.

 

*

 

A couple days later, after hitting Haines and Skagway, they begin their trip down the panhandle back to Ketchikan. They’re close to Juneau when Jensen hears Jared and Chad chattering excitedly down in the cabin. Jensen can only catch a word here and there over the sound of wind and waves, but it’s clear enough that Jared’s found what he was looking for—or maybe found _enough_ of it from the sound of things.

Jensen’s been slowly and reluctantly putting together the pieces of what Jared’s been looking for.

Oil supertankers don’t travel the Inside Passage; their shipping lanes are outside on the open water of the ocean. Which is the point. Jared’s finding evidence of oil pollution this far away from the shipping lanes. Clearly the oil companies have been hiding the environmental impact.

Jensen rubs a hand over his face, another piece of the puzzle trying to fit itself into place in his mind. He can’t quite see it, though, or how it fits, no matter how he tries to turn it.

He lets it go for now.

 

*

 

They dock early the next day near Juneau to gas up for the next stretch, and Chad comes above deck, pulling his luggage behind him, Jared following just behind.

“Are you leaving?” Jensen asks, confused.

“I know you’re gonna miss me, Jenny. It’s gonna be tough. Try and deal with the pain,” Chad mock-consoles him, patting him on the shoulder.

Jensen rolls his eyes, shoving Chad’s hand away. “I just couldn’t believe I was getting rid of you early. Is this is a dream? Quick, someone pinch me.” Jensen throws up his arm, blocking Chad’s attempt at pinching, forearm twisting around Chad’s, hand grabbing Chad by the wrist. “You knew that was a joke,” he says, throwing Chad’s hand back at him.

“And you knew I had to try. This is why we share a bond,” Chad grins. “Nice reflexes, by the way,” Chad comments with an appreciative nod.

He turns away then, rolling his bags behind him across the deck. “I’ll meet you guys in four days in Petersburg—don’t be late.”

Jensen gets it. Chad’s got people to talk to about the evidence they’ve found, and Jared’s got more samples to collect.

And that’s… well, Jensen doesn’t have much of an opinion on what Chad’s setting out to do, but maybe it’ll be nice to have a few days alone with Jared. They can play cards, maybe a board game, dance around the past some more. Stare into each other’s eyes, accidentally drunkenly make out. It’ll be great.

Jesus Christ.

Jensen’s still fueling the boat, lost in thought when Misha walks down the dock about ten minutes later.  
Well, that’s a good distraction. If he didn’t hate Misha with every fiber of his being, he’d invite him along just for the company and the continuation of the invisible barrier between Jensen and Jared.

Jared is extremely excited, beginning to talk so fast Jensen can barely understand him, and Jared nearly leaps from the boat, Misha catching Jared in his arms with a laugh. 

Jensen grinds his molars together, fingers squeezing the gas nozzle so hard that he feels his knuckles crack.

“Slow down,” Misha chuckles. “I’m only getting every fifth word or so, here.” He grips Jared by the shoulders, pulling him closer. “I also need layman’s terms, because what I _am_ getting makes my head hurt.”

“Sorry,” Jared apologizes, breathless. 

Jared begins to explain his discovery in simpler terms as they walk up the dock.

Jensen’s fingers fire with pain against the gas trigger.

 

*

 

Ten minutes later, Jensen’s done gassing up Serenity, leaning back against the helm and waiting.

He can hear them talking as they walk down the dock, Misha entirely too flattering, Jared so overwhelmed with excitement that he can only babble in return.

“I’d love to see this evidence with my own eyes,” Misha says, Jensen watching the two of them dawdling at the edge of the dock, sharing what he’d classify as a ‘meaningful look’—Misha smiling almost shyly, their eyes locked, Jared smiling back, broad and open like he’s always been.

“You could come on board, have a look,” Jared offers. His eyes shift to Jensen, tacitly asking permission.

“We don’t have time,” Jensen replies, gruff. “This is just a gas stop.”

“Surely you can wait a few minutes,” Misha says, smiling ingratiatingly at Jensen.

“Sorry.” Jensen shoots him a steely grin. “Popeye has a schedule to keep.”

The glare Misha gives him is scathing. 

Jensen smiles and starts the motor.

 

*

 

They have a stop to make in an inlet of Chichagof Island, and it’s there, while Jared is underwater, that Jensen finishes reading Catcher in the Rye.

\-- _Don’t tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody._ \--

He closes the book, sets it down on the seat next to him, and folds his arms across his chest.

That’s a shitty ending if he’s ever read one. Not that it’s without hope, given Holden’s character. But still, it’s shitty and half-assed and doesn’t commit to _anything_. 

There are some things so deep and terrible that they can’t be shared. Things so deep and terrible that they make the tragedy in your former life seem small by comparison. Things that if you ever told another person, they’d be repulsed by your very presence no matter how much they cared about you. Jensen understands that.

But living your life on the edge of never speaking, never feeling anything too deeply because you’ve shut everything out… how is that living?

It isn’t. It isn’t living, and he hates this book maybe more than anything else he’s ever read, because it makes him understand that.

He isn’t living anymore.

It’s hard for him to care, so distanced from everything that he’s nearly numb—so close to not caring about anything that he can barely stand waking up in the morning. Only gets out of bed because he has obligations, strangers depending on him to get to the next point of their trip. Serenity needing him to tend to her.

He loves the peacefulness of this place, the beauty of the water and the mountains rising up around him, the knowledge that they’re endless and unchanging, that they’ll go on long after he’s gone. They exist as they are and make no apologies or explanation for the fact of their existence or what they’ve seen.

He wishes he was water or stone.

Fuck this book. He’d like to throw it overboard, but it wouldn’t help.

That’s the bitch of _knowing_ something. 

Once a thing is known, it can never be unknown.

 

*

 

When Jared emerges from the water, Jensen clasps him by the forearms and helps him up onto the deck, steadying him on his feet. They stand there for a moment, closer to each other then they strictly need to be, and then Jensen asks, “All good?”

“Yeah,” Jared answers after he pulls the regulator from his mouth. 

“Good,” Jensen replies, patting him on the shoulder. It feels odd; Jensen hasn’t touched anyone except to help them or fuck them in a long time. Except for kissing Jared, there was that.

Jared must sense the oddness—hell probably feels it himself given that he’s had enough time to observe Jensen’s general behavior—because he tugs his goggles up to the top of his head, squinting at Jensen with curiosity. “Everything okay with you?”

Jensen hesitates a moment, watching water drip from Jared’s hair, and then makes a decision. “There’s something I want to show you.”

 

*

 

It’s only a few miles to where he wants to go, they’ll be able to make Jared’s schedule on time when they need to start moving again.

Jensen anchors down about a half a mile off shore, and by the time he’s done getting everything squared away, Jared’s already watching the family of river otters scattered over the land and in the water. They’re animated, chirping and whistling to each other as they cavort.

“I haven’t seen enough of this,” Jared says, leaning out across the rail, resting his weight on his forearms. 

“You’ll never see enough of this,” Jensen confides, leaning in next to Jared. “I never get tired of it.”

“How long have you been watching them?”

“Since I started this route, so a couple years, off and on. I come here alone while the tourists are off on the island doing tourist stuff.”

Jensen watches Jared watch as a group of otters go sliding down the muddy bank into the water, sees the smile on Jared’s face. Jensen follows to where Jared’s gaze has stopped on a female otter lying on her back in the water, a tiny baby otter resting on her stomach.

Jared points at the otter, glancing over at Jensen. “She’s young, she must be a first time mom.”

Jensen takes in a breath, nodding slowly. 

“What did you name them?” Jared asks, not looking away.

Jensen is surprised, caught off guard. He hadn’t expected Jared to remember that he used to name the animals he watched. “You think I named them?”

“Of course you did,” Jared says, like it was never in question. A tiny smile curves Jared’s mouth, and he’s gazing at Jensen with something Jensen can only call fondness.

Jensen rolls his lower lip underneath his upper teeth. He’s never shared this with anyone, never brought anyone here, much less talked to anyone about it. It feels deeply, intensely personal, the emotional connection he has with these animals, and he has an instinctive urge to protect the information, keep it to himself.

_Don’t tell anybody anything._

Jensen takes a deep breath, hands opening and closing into fists a few times before he feels like he can speak.

“Over there are Thelma and Louise,” Jensen points in the direction of a pair of otters in particular. “They’re life partners, but they had a recent argument over Thelma’s affair with J.D.” 

He pauses, gauging Jared’s reaction, but Jared is looking at Thelma and Louise, his smile full blown now. “Which one is J.D.?”

Jensen relaxes a notch, feels the tightness in his chest loosen. He aligns his pointing finger on an otter over in the male grouping. “That’s J.D. But,” Jensen swings his finger back to Thelma and Louise, “they’re working through it. Especially now that Thelma’s pregnant. Louise has been very forgiving since then; even though I’m pretty sure she’s gonna drown J.D. the first chance she gets.”

“And then you’ve got Baby over here, and Johnny Castle over there,” he says, pointing out a female and male otter, “dirty dancing around the subject of pairing up. It’s a tragic love. Their parents will never approve. You hate to see it, but it is what it is.”

Jared laughs and shakes his head, hair falling down into his face. He looks over at Jensen with something more than fondness, now, something tender and happy that Jensen hasn’t seen in a very long time. “Your animal gossip is maybe the best thing ever.”

Jensen feels the tension in him dissipate completely, mouth pulling in a genuinely pleased smile. “I do have a lot of it,” Jensen nods.

“Tell me more,” Jared urges.

 

*

 

It’s nearing mid-afternoon when they dock in Gustavus for a quick resupply run. 

Jensen is disappointed but unsurprised when Jared explains that Misha’s going to come with them to the next port and catch a plane from there. 

Jensen doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t really have any reason to protest at this point. Chad’s room is still paid for, and since Chad’s not currently occupying it, Jensen can’t argue over money.

Jensen starts the boat, and Jared gets his laptop. For some reason, Misha asks if they can sit on the deck while they go over Jared’s data, and Jensen tries as hard as he can not to listen. 

“You collected all this? This is impressive,” Misha is saying.

“Me and Chad,” Jared corrects, and he always was about giving credit where credit was due.

“Yeah,” Misha says, and Jensen can hear how he dismisses the statement, can almost _feel_ how Misha is leaning into Jared’s space. “But we both know you’re the real brains behind this operation. Don’t we?” The words are uttered low, and Jensen only barely catches them above the hum of the engine, wouldn’t catch them at all except for the way he’s listening.

He shouldn’t be listening, he shouldn’t care.

He clenches his hands tight around the wheel and focuses on the water in front of him.

 

*

 

They’ve been under way more than hour when behind him, he hears Jared suggest they go down to the cabin to get something to drink to celebrate.

Jensen’s phone rings then, and he answers, listening for a moment before he says thanks.

He hangs up the phone, and slides it back into his pocket.

He watches Jared descend the companionway, laptop back in its case, Misha following close behind. Jensen’s eyes linger on Misha’s back, narrowing.

As Jared and Misha talk, Jared opening the fridge, Jensen pulls out his phone and writes a text, hitting send. He sends another, then another, and when he’s finished, he turns, looking aft.

He’d sighted a glimmer in the far distance of Serenity’s wake earlier, and it’s drawn a lot closer to them. If it were the same distance away, it would be fine, but it isn’t. He takes his time now, aligning his boat on the exact course they need. It’s not the original course he’d plotted, but it’s the one that will get them where they need to go. 

“Hang on a sec, I’ll be right back,” Jared calls to Misha as he comes up the companionay.

They might as well get this over with. Jensen’s been holding it in long enough.

Jensen turns to face Jared as he steps on deck.

“Look, I’ve tried to deal with you and your questionable choice in friends, but this,” Jensen glances in the direction of the cabin and Misha, “has to stop.”

Jared blinks at him and adjusts his stance, folding his arms over his chest. “What? Where is this coming from all of the sudden? 

“You need to stop seeing him.”

“Who do you think you are, telling me what to do? Wait, are you _jealous_?” Jared demands, incredulous.

Jensen actually laughs. “That’s your problem, Jared. You’re naïve. We shared one moment today, connecting and you think, what? I’m falling in love with you? That I’m jealous? It’s ridiculous.”

Jensen can see the way his words hit Jared, each one landing like an arrow, can hear the quiver of anger in Jared’s voice as he asks, “Ridiculous?” 

“Yes. Look, whatever you think is between you and me… it’s a delusion. And whatever’s between you and him… He isn’t your type.” 

Jared shakes his head like he doesn’t understand what Jensen’s saying at all. “What do you know about my _type_?” Jared demands.

“I know it’s of the asshole quality. And trust me; he is not your quality of asshole.”

“And you know this because?” Jared is staring daggers at him, and if looks could kill Jensen would be dead by now.

“I know this because _I was_.”

Jared steps up to him, staring him right in the eye. “And what makes the difference?”

He asks this in a steady tone, one that edged with so much steel Jensen can barely stand to hear it. And Jensen is in no place to tell him, but Jared needs to know, clearly still doesn’t know.

“Jared. The difference is… I cared.”

“Oh…” Jared takes a moment, looks out across the starboard side and nods. “You… _cared_.”

He watches Jared’s hands close into fists, flex once, twice, and he knows what’s coming long before it hits him; the feel of knuckles against his cheekbones, driving him backward, stumbling and falling backward against the deck, and he deserves it, he does.

“Now you’re going to tell me you _CARED_?” Jared yells as he stands over Jensen. “You left me without a word, never contacted me for EIGHT YEARS—but you _CARED_?”

“Actually,” Misha says as he steps up from below deck. “He’s probably right. As far as assholes go, I mean. At least Jensen cared. He tried to save you the pain. Me, I would never do that.”

Jared’s eyes widen as he focuses on Misha, and he takes a few, clumsy steps backward.

Right on time.

Jensen thrusts his shoulders against the deck, palms shoved behind them, throwing himself upward to his feet in a single fluid motion. He bites at the corner of his mouth, takes in the sight of Misha holding a gun, and then squares his gaze on Jared.

“Like I said.” It’s half I-told-you-so, half I’m sorry.

“Oh,” Misha says, moving toward Jensen, predatory, sinewy muscle like a snake. “Don’t stop there, baby.” Gun shoved underneath the muscle of his ribcage. “Put your hands up for me.”

Jensen squints his eyes, cutting them sideways at Misha as he lifts his hands, Jared in his peripheral. “I knew you couldn’t resist a grand entrance.”

“There you go,” Misha says with an easy tone. “For the record, I’m just here for his laptop and to kill you both before I catch my ride.”

“But…” Misha hesitates, staring at Jensen, voice trailing off thoughtfully. “Jared deserves the whole story, don’t you think?” Misha’s voice is conspiratorial, thick with knowledge. “I mean before you both die… he should know the truth.”

Jensen considers him for a long moment, shaking his head fractionally.

“You mean the truth where you’re not actually EPA? Not a free agent of the EPA interested in Jared’s work who happened to actually like him?” Jensen curls his lower lip against his teeth and laughs to himself. “You mean the story where you were always supposed to stop him if he found proof because you’re the muscle hired by someone bigger who matters as little to me as you do?”

“Come on, Jensen… you don’t care about his mission either.” Misha smirks, edge of the gun barrel pushing up harder inside the edge of his ribcage—and Jared’s starting to move now and Jensen almost tells him not to, but Misha pulls a second gun, holds it on Jared’s position without a second look. 

“Either way, Jared,” Misha cocks the gun pointed at Jared without looking away from Jensen. “I kill him. Probably you, too.”

Jensen can see Jared hesitate, and that’s good, better than good--he doesn’t waste a moment bringing the attention back to himself. “You’re right. I don’t care about his mission. Hell, there isn’t much I care about. The kind of life I’ve lead, you pretty much learn you’re going to die. Kill him, kill me, it doesn’t really matter in the end.”

Misha’s attention is focused on him in full, blue, blue eyes squinting as they stare into his. “So you’re a nihilist? Because you really don’t strike me as the type.” Misha pauses, thoughtful. “I’ve done some research.”

Jensen lifts his shoulders in a slow shrug, mouth curving in a smile. “Well. I _am_ a fan of the classics.”

And then he pushes forward off the balls of his feet, skull driving into Misha’s, knee thrusting into the elbow of the hand holding a gun at his side, hand pulling it the rest of the way outside of anything like a viable shot, other hand grabbing the gun pointed at Jared and shoving it in another direction, leg wrapping around Misha’s body, twisting and throwing him to the deck. He squeezes Misha’s wrists between his fingers, hears shots fired into wood and nothing else and shoves his face into Misha’s, grinning.

“But Nietsze might have needed some addendums.”

Misha twists his right arm in Jensen’s grip, flash of movement like lightning, breaking free, and then there’s cold steel pressed against Jensen’s temple.

“Oh, honey, that’s beautiful. But, clever as you are, no--I meant you should tell him the _whole_ story about _you_.”

“I’m not really sure now is the right time,” Jensen answers with a tilt of his head into the muzzle.

“Well, it’s now or never,” Misha grins. “I encourage you to remember who’s holding the gun.”

“And I encourage you to remember who was steering the boat,” Jensen grins back.

They hit the rocks at an angle off starboard, boat thrusting hard to port side, everything happening as if in slow motion—muzzle glancing off Jensen’s temple, shot fired into the air and ringing in his ears as they roll across the deck, Jensen’s left elbow thrown hard into Misha’s right, lashing out to the side before retracting, fingers of his left hand grabbing Misha’s gun on the way back down, and he can only hope Jared found a way to hold on as he sinks the fingers of his right hand into Misha’s shoulder, keeps turning them, rolling across the deck, teeth gritted, muscles straining, right leg recoiling as he hits the side of the boat with his shoulder—kicks up into Misha’s gut and to the left.

Weight of him rolling away, hands clutching the side of the boat, nearly falling overboard. Close, but not close enough. Jensen fights against the pull of the boat, tries to roll against it, but he can’t. Kicks out with his leg again, foot hitting Misha in the hip, throwing him off-balance, raises the gun between them, lining up Misha’s surprised face down the sight—

He looks almost betrayed, and Jensen can’t help but laugh, pulling the trigger.

But Misha’s gone—split second and he’s thrown overboard or letting go voluntarily—bullet maybe grazing him or not hitting him at all. Jensen can’t tell. It happens so fast.

All he knows is Misha is gone.

The boat is listing to port as Jensen struggles to his feet, rocks left behind them. They’re back on the water now, but they don’t have much time before the boat Jensen saw in the distance behind them catches up, and _Serenity_ will never outrun it—not in this condition.

Jared’s clinging to the starboard rail, knuckles white. And if he were anyone else, he’d probably be hopeful that the boat could keep going after that nasty scrape, but Jared’s extremely familiar with sailing boats, and he knows the truth. Jensen can see it written all over his face.

“You okay?”

“Still alive,” Jared grates.

“Keep holding on,” Jensen tells him as he tucks the gun into his belt, grabs the wheel between his hands, wresting control the best he can. 

“This is what we call a controlled crash.”

 

*

 

Jensen steers the boat with sheer force of will through the rocky shallows of the approaching shore, jolting and skidding and shaking, holding her together until they hit ground with a brutal, shuddering, final stop. He wouldn’t have run her aground if it could be avoided, but they’re working on limited time, and they need to get their feet on land as soon as humanly possible.

His boat. His baby. _Serenity_ , and she was never supposed to be part of this. She was supposed to be the exact opposite of this. 

His baby. He strokes a hand along her wheel, feels her give a last tremor before the engine cuts out, and she’ll be okay. She’s not beyond repair. He’ll fix her.

_I’ll be back, baby_

His personal locator beacon is shot—literally. Misha’s last bullet shattered it into a thousand plastic fragments scattered all over the deck. That means they’re on their own, no hope of rescue in the next 24 hours.

Jensen checks his phone, confirming what he already figured. “This whole island is probably a no signal zone, because no one lives here.” He turns his face over his shoulder, looking in Jared’s direction. “We don’t have much time. The boat pursuing us isn’t going to stop just because we crashed.”

“Pursuing us?” It only takes Jared a second to piece it together. “Misha had backup?” 

“Mercenaries tend to travel in groups,” Jensen says, then, “Get your laptop and your guns. I need to get mine from my quarters.”

Jared comes to a full stop. “You have _guns_?” 

Jensen turns, looks at Jared. “You _don’t’_?”

Jared tilts his head at him, expression disbelieving. “We’re gonna have a talk about this later.”

“Told you we would,” Jensen mutters before he hurries below, Jared right behind him.

 

*

 

They hit their separate cabins in quick order, packing up whatever they need that they can carry.

Jensen hits the galley on the way out, grabbing a few essential things—whatever canned food he can carry, a can opener, a pair of spoons and forks. He already has his guns and ammo, his hunting knife, plus rope and other survival gear in his bag, and he takes just a moment to fill two water skins with water from the jug in the fridge, for once thankful that he’s the kind of person who’s paranoid enough to keep this kind of stuff around and ready to go at a moment’s notice.

He hands some things off to Jared to put in his bag, gives the boat a once over, and then nods at Jared.

“Let’s go.”

  



	5. Chapter 5

They make their way from the rocky shore into the forest.

“It’ll take them a while to navigate close enough to the island to anchor, thanks to the rocks. I figure we’ve probably got a good hour, maybe more before they make land,” Jensen tells Jared as they thread their way through the trees.

Jared nods absently. “Why didn’t you get your guns _before_ Misha came up on deck?”

“Because the last thing I wanted was crossfire between us with you potentially in the middle.”

Jensen is glad Jared doesn’t question that, just moves on to the next question. “How’d you know?”

And this is the point at which Jensen has to start coming clean. “Someone in the EPA I used to know that owed me a favor. I had him check for a Misha Collins in any of their divisions.”

“And he didn’t find _any_?” Jared asks, incredulous.

“How many people do you know named Misha?” Jensen asks, and Jared snorts. 

“I also saw the shape of a gun through his clothes when you guys went below—he had it tucked into the back of his jeans. That, on top of the boat pursuing us and you having just made your big discovery… I put two and two together. Good work with the acting back there, by the way,” Jensen compliments him. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to sell it.”

“You texted me to come stage having an angry fight with you and to hit you and then find something to grab on to. That if I did, you’d tell me the truth about what happened to you. And I know that’s something you’ve never told anyone, so I knew me doing what you asked had to be important. I figured it had something to do with Misha. Of course I didn’t expect all _that_. Jesus Christ.”

Jensen glances sideways at him, trying to assess Jared’s mental state, wondering how he’s holding up under all the stress.

A second later Jared blurts, “Okay, no, stop, wait. Why do you have guns? Where did you learn to fight like that?” and Jensen smiles. Yeah, Jared’s doing all right.

“That’s part of the story of what happened to me. But I don’t have time to tell it right now. Right now we need keep moving.”

“Do you even know where we are?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Jensen asks with a smile. “Yes. This island is small, maybe a few miles wide and long.”

“So where are we headed?”

“Base of the mountains, see if we can find a cave, some kind of shelter to hole up in for the night.” Jensen glances up at the sky, and they should have enough daylight to get there and hopefully find something. Otherwise they can always sleep high up in the trees. “They expected to take us out on the water during the day time; it’s likely they don’t have gear for land hunting--night vision goggles or electronic hunting gear. They’ll probably have to camp at night just like us. So we might be safe once it’s dark.”

Jared nods. “What’s the ultimate plan, though? Like what’s our ultimate goal.”

“Trying to avoid Misha and his crew until someone realizes we’re missing.”

“And how long will that take?”

“Probably six days, all told. My contracting company will notice when we don’t dock back in Ketchikan. It takes another 24 hours after that before they send out a search party.”

“We’re supposed to meet Chad in three days.” Jared sounds hopeful. “He’ll let someone know when we don’t show.”

Jensen doesn’t say anything about his suspicions that Misha sent someone after Chad, too. It’s not like they can do anything about it, now. “Let’s hope so.”

 

*

 

They keep moving through the forest until it thins at the base of the mountains, skirting the edge of the stone. Luck seems to be with them, and after about half an hour of walking, as the sun is setting, Jensen spots a cave that’s not too high for them to climb and reach.

The cave mouth isn’t very large, just tall enough for them to walk through, and wide enough that they can do it side by side, but it’s deep. Not enough curvature that they could build a fire or use any bright lights, but enough to give them cover in case Misha and his back up find them here.

Jensen sets his pack down at the back of the cave, putting his back to it before he slides into a sitting position. He’s got a hand gun strapped to one thigh and a rifle that he pulls out of his pack and sets alongside him. He’s got plenty of ammo in his bag, too, so he’s not worried about running out if they do get into a firefight.

He and Jared each eat a can of beans for dinner as the cave slowly grows darker.

“Jensen… why did you make that phone call in the first place?”

“Gut instinct. Something about him didn’t sit right from the beginning. And when you told me he was EPA the feeling got even stronger. I figured it couldn’t hurt to check. I didn’t expect to be quite _this_ right about him, though.”

“I can’t believe he spent all that time pretending to get close to me just so he could shut me up if my mission was successful.”

Jensen’s silent for a moment, considering. “Jared, the things I said to you on the boat…”

Jared shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. It was acting, right?”

Jensen smirks slightly, looking over at Jared. “I’m not sure _all_ of it was.”

Jared shrugs, seeming chastened. “It wasn’t too hard to pretend I was angry, I guess, thinking back to how I felt after you left. But it’s in the past.”

Jensen takes in a breath, holds it for a long moment before releasing. “Jared. For what it’s worth… I’m sorry I left like that.”

The daylight has left them almost completely, but Jensen can still see enough to catch the look of surprise on Jared’s face. He can imagine all the questions Jared wants to ask, but Jared doesn’t.

“Thank you,” is all Jared says.

Darkness settles in and Jared lies down, Jensen settling back, rifle at his side, taking first watch.

The night is cold—colder than Jensen would have expected for this time of the year, but then they are inside a gigantic rock. They’re near each other, Jared shivering pathetically, and Jensen isn’t doing much better. He didn’t spare any room to pack blankets or an extra jacket, and given how cold they are, neither of them is going to be able to sleep. If that happens, they’re going to be in piss-poor shape tomorrow, and they need to be sharp, as well-rested as possible given the danger they’re potentially in.

“Come here,” Jensen finally says, lying down fully.

There’s a moment of hesitation, and then Jared scoots closer to him until their shoulders bump. Jensen reaches out, blind in the darkness and sets his hand on Jared’s other shoulder, turning him and pulling him in. He can hear the sharp intake of breath from Jared, and then he settles Jared’s head against his chest. “We need to stay warm. Press your body up alongside mine.” Jared does as Jensen instructs, and then Jensen leans up slightly, grabs Jared’s thigh and pulls Jared’s leg across him, wraps his arms around Jared’s shoulders. “As close as you can. And relax. I’m not going to bite you.”

He can feel the tension ease from Jared’s muscles as he nestles in closer, arm stretching out across Jensen’s chest, hand resting on Jensen’s far shoulder.

They’ve never lain like this, so close together before, not even on the island. Jensen was always careful to keep enough space between them, and Jared had always let him take the lead.

He’s very, _very_ conscious of Jared pressed against him everywhere, the warmth of his body spreading to warm Jensen’s, the way they’re both settling and stilling, shivering subsiding. The way his arms are wrapped around Jared. The beat of Jared’s heart in his chest, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, the smell of the ocean in his hair, faint smell of citrus shampoo beneath. 

He thinks of the last time they were this close, when they’d finally kissed. The way Jared had felt, the way he’d tasted, how desperate Jared had been. He wonders if Jared would be the same way if they kissed now. Would Jared be just as desperate, or would he be more gentle, take his time?

“Are you comfortable?” Jared whispers, tugging Jensen from his contemplation. Which honestly, is just as well. 

“Yeah,” Jensen whispers back, nodding. He’s more comfortable than he probably should be. But he can’t deny how natural it feels to have Jared this close.

Here, in the complete darkness, lying on a cool stone floor with mercenaries on their heels, he feels completely comfortable. 

He takes a deep breath and exhales, and then he begins to speak.

“I left a day early that summer, because I couldn’t… I couldn’t stand having to say goodbye to you. I felt like… it would be easier on both of us if we left our memories of each other at the night before. It was such a perfect night… it didn’t seem like we could do anything but spoil it after that.” 

Jared has stilled completely, barely breathing as he listens.

“And for that, I’m sorry. I should have… I should have been strong enough to say goodbye. I’m glad I have the strength to admit that, now.”

The next part isn’t the hardest to tell, but it’s considerably harder, and Jensen hesitates before he continues. “What happened to me…” It’s a lot to tell, and Jensen’s stronger than he was all those years ago, but he isn’t sure he has enough strength for this. But he’d promised Jared, and Jared has an idea of how huge it is or he would never have agreed to do what Jensen asked on the boat.

He fights against the constriction of his throat, the knot trying to tighten in his chest, just breathing, holding to Jared so tight that he expects Jared to protest. Jared doesn’t, snuggling in a fraction of an inch closer, and after a couple of minutes, the tension in Jensen slowly eases.

“I went off to Greenpeace,” he begins, then clears his throat. “And things were good for a while. I felt like I was making a difference in the world. It was during the second year, when we were off the coast of Africa that things went wrong. We went inland to resupply, and there was a war going on.” Jensen closes his eyes even though it’s dark, tries to banish the visual memories from his mind. “It was awful. The amount of suffering and death… I’d never seen anything like it. We went there to resupply, but we had no idea what the situation was actually like. A battle broke out, and… in the confusion...” 

A few, long moments pass in silence before Jensen opens his eyes, goes on. “I got caught by the enemy. They weren’t just killing people… they were also enslaving them. I was held captive at first, alone, and then… the torture started. They didn’t want to know anything—it was the kind of torture where they try to break you down mentally, render you empty and malleable so they can fill you with their purpose. The kind where they turn you into a weapon.”

Jensen hesitates, fingers squeezing tight against Jared, trying to find the right words, and even though it happened to him, he’s never spoken like about it out loud, never let himself fully realize it. And maybe he needs to. Maybe it’s time.

“They trained me to use guns, how to fight hand to hand, and for a while, I… had to fight. I…” He bites down on his lower lip and sighs out a harsh breath. “I had to kill people.” He breathes in amongst utter silence.

“And what I had to do to myself to be able to do those kinds of things… “ Jensen shakes his head in the darkness, “I had to turn everything off. I couldn’t let myself feel anything.”

“My God,” Jared breathes, sounding stunned and horrified. “Fuck, Jensen. I… I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. It wouldn’t change anything.” Jensen’s glad he decided to do this now, here, in the pitch black of the cave where he doesn’t have to see Jared’s face, the way Jared’s reacting, because he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to bear it. Jared’s hand tightens against Jensen’s shoulder, squeezing, and then Jared draws away, finding Jensen’s hand where it’s resting on Jared’s shoulder. Jared laces their fingers together and holds on tight, and Jensen doesn’t protest, finds that it actually calms him a bit. 

He hadn’t expected this. He’d expected shock and revulsion, hatred and judgment; not comfort.

“It went on like that for almost a year before I was finally rescued during a battle.” Jensen lets the words stand, feels them echo through his heart and soul. Jared says nothing, leaving space for Jensen to tell the rest, and this is how it’s always been between them; Jared listening and caring beyond anything Jensen can understand.

Eight years and he’s still confessing his life to Jared like Jared’s a priest that can absolve him of every sin. 

Jared’s fingers clench through his. “Tell me.”

Jared says the words like he still really wants to know, even after all this. 

Jensen takes a moment, and Jared’s just listening, waiting.

“It… it took me a long time to be able to function in the normal world again.” Jensen swallows hard, finding his place again. “It was a couple years of adjusting before I felt anything like a normal person again.” Jensen pauses, considers. “But I figured out pretty quick… I wasn’t going to be normal. I didn’t like being in the normal big noisy world. I didn’t trust people anymore, didn’t enjoy being around them.”

“So you came here,” Jared whispers.

Jensen closes his eyes briefly, and nods.

“I bought Serenity almost five years after the last time I’d seen you. It took almost all the money I had saved prior to Greenpeace to pay for her, even though she was a steal. And then I rented a truck, hitched her to the back, and came here. I worked odd jobs that first year while I fixed her up, and once she was I started doing contract work for tours. I’ve been doing that a little over two years now. I can handle tourists, because Serenity’s my home and I have my guns and my survival gear at the ready, in case anything happens. And it’s been good for me, because I’ve been able to relax a little bit, be more of a functioning person socially. But people are never around long enough to get close to, and that’s the way I like to keep it. Keep them at arm’s length.”

“Jensen,” Jared whispers, and Jensen closes his eyes against all the emotion in it. “God, I’m so sorry. If I had known…”

“Nothing you could have done,” Jensen says, shaking his head.

The worst part is done, so he draws a breath and finishes with, “So, that’s why I have guns and survival gear on hand at all times, because I don’t trust the world anymore.”

Jared lets go of Jensen’s hand then, gripping Jensen’s shoulder again and burrowing close, hugging Jensen the best he can in their current position. It’s more physical comfort than Jensen’s allowed himself to have in six and a half years, and he would push Jared away, except that he knew Jared _before_ it all happened, and he’s always trusted Jared implicitly.

“But I still trust _you_.” The words leave Jensen’s mouth in a realization of truth. Jared freezes, and Jensen instantly regrets that he’d spoken out loud. 

Jared lifts his head from Jensen’s chest, as if trying to find Jensen’s eyes in the dark. “You still trust me?” Jared asks, and the way he asks it, so simply, like he really just wants to know, lays Jensen completely bare in this moment. Emotions so close to the surface, the realization that he does trust Jared, and he couldn’t lie if he wanted to.

“You’re the _only_ person I trust.”

He moves the arm wrapped on top of Jared, hand reaching through the blackness between them, finding Jared’s face, laying his hand along Jared’s cheek, and then he leans through the space between them, his lips meeting Jared’s.

Jared stills again for a split second in surprise, and then he leans into the kiss, pressing his lips tighter against Jensen’s, hand leaving Jensen’s shoulder, fingertips finding his face, hand cupping his cheek. Jensen parts his lips, tongue flickering out, and Jared opens for him, tilting his face slightly to the side, tongue meeting Jensen’s halfway, tangling together in a sleek slide. It _is_ slower this time, Jared almost gentle, tongue mapping out Jensen’s mouth, the ridges on the roof of it, the skin on the inside of his cheek, coming back to circle Jensen’s tongue again. It’s so gentle it’s almost sweet—sweet and incredibly hot and exactly how he’d always imagined Jared would kiss; like a long, August summer day. 

Jensen draws back just a little, enough to nip at Jared’s lower lip, and Jared breathes in sharply, so Jensen catches Jared’s lower lip between his teeth, bites down and then releases, nips it again and then swirls his tongue back inside Jared’s mouth. Their chins bump, faces angling as he kisses Jared deeper, more insistently. Jared’s still pressed up against Jensen on his side, and Jensen slowly lets his head fall back against the pack he’d been using as a pillow.

Jared follows the movement, kissing down into Jensen, and Jensen reaches out, hands finding Jared’s shoulder and pulling him from his side, weight of him rolling to rest over the left half of Jensen’s body, leg straightening out and coming to rest between Jensen’s legs.

Jared’s hands cradling Jensen’s face, and Jensen rests his arms on Jared’s shoulders, wrapping them behind Jared’s neck, pulling him in deeper. Deep lazy kissing, and God, why hadn’t they done this all those years ago? They could have spent the whole summer doing this, heat radiating from them that had nothing to do with the sun, bodies throwing it off in waves, mouths fused together just like this, molten, perfect heat.

Jensen hasn’t kissed anyone like this since before that summer, and all of his sexual encounters since have been brief and to the point. Even the kissing he’d done then hadn’t been quite like this, slow burn rising up inside him, easy give and take, tongues swirling and gliding like they’ve waited eight years to do this right and neither one of them wants to rush through it, kissing until he feels like he’s dizzy with it.

He winds a hand up into Jared’s hair, tugging him in gently, turning his head slightly so Jensen can kiss him at a different angle, slow exploration of the inside of Jared’s mouth, and Jared makes a noise that sends shivers racing through him. He runs his other hand down Jared’s back, feeling the muscles beneath his thin jacket and shirt, finding the hem of both and tugging them upward, seeking out the skin beneath, fingertips tracing slow circles at the base of Jared’s spine, and Jared shudders against him, kissing Jensen back more intensely.

Jensen goes with it, pushing his face up into Jared’s and breathing out hard through his nose, kissing Jared deeply, matching his intensity, hand tightening through Jared’s hair. Pulling back, biting, licking and nibbling at Jared’s lower lip before he dives back in, heart and breathing speeding up, and there it is, that need he’d fought back that whole summer, the need to feel all of Jared pressed against him, underneath him, kissing him breathless, to put his hands all over Jared and memorize every hard curve of his lean, naked body, to do things to him that would leave him keening and begging and crying out Jensen’s name, and God he wants to do all of those things now even _more_ than he did then.

But he wants to _see_ Jared when he does it. Doesn’t want to miss a single expression, wants to see his naked body in all its muscular glory. 

Jensen lets go of Jared’s hair, keeps kissing him as he rolls them over, Jensen repositioning his body until he’s lying fully on top of Jared, and Jared moans into his mouth. Jensen uses his hands to unzip his jacket, disentangling from Jared long enough to pull out of it, and then strip his shirt over his head. His shirt is damp, the skin wet beneath, his body nowhere near cold and he’s been sweating for the last twenty minutes at least. He reaches down, trying to find the zipper on Jared’s jacket, and then Jared’s hands brush past his, finding it and doing it himself. Jared half sits up, pulling his jacket and shirt off, and then his arms circle Jensen, pulling him back down.

Bare chests sweat slick as they meet, and God, Jared’s bare skin feels like relief. Mouths tangling, more desperate now, insistent as Jared runs his hands down Jensen’s back, fingers slipping under the waist of his jeans and boxers, fingertips clinging to the curve of Jensen’s ass, and Jensen can feel how hard Jared is, knows Jared can feel him too, cocks pressed together through layers of denim. Jensen lifts his ass into Jared’s touch, and then curls his hips under, rocking into Jared, cock pressing against the hardness of Jared’s, and Jared whimpers, jolting into the sensation.

The feeling sends sparks rushing through Jensen, igniting his blood. “Waited so long to do this,” he whispers raggedly against Jared’s mouth, then lets his mouth glide down to the line of Jared’s jaw, nipping along the edge, “God, waited so long, Jared,” he whispers against Jared’s pulse, tip of his tongue licking a stripe down the length of it. Hips rolling into Jared’s, delicious pressure, and Jared hisses in a breath.

“Want you so much,” Jared breathes out in a rush. “God, Jensen. Wanna feel you inside me.”

Jensen feels want kick and turn over in his gut, Jared’s words hitting him like a blow, and fuck, Jensen wants to, wants it so badly he feels like he’s going to split apart. He bites down against his lower lip, and then presses a kiss to Jared’s throat, shaking his head as he rocks into Jared again. “Not here,” he whispers, voice unsteady. He bites at Jared’s throat, feels Jared shiver, licking a trail up to Jared’s ear, tongue tracing the shape before he bites down on the sensitive lobe, feels Jared’s breath hitch in his chest. “Wanna see your face when I push inside you,” Jensen whispers into Jared’s ear, hips rolling against Jared’s, “wanna watch you…” grinding down into him, “watch you come apart while I’m fucking you.”

“Jesus,” the word is a mangled sound, thick with need and want, and Jensen can feel the pounding of Jared’s heart through the cage of his ribs, knows he’s picturing it the same way Jensen is right now.

“Gonna take my time with you when I do that, Jared,” Jensen breathes out, grinding down against Jared again.

“Fuck, Jensen.” Jared shudders, hips bucking up into Jensen’s. Jensen sucks in a sharp breath, pleasure flooding through him, his cock incredibly hard, wetness leaking from the tip.

“Wish I could see you _now_ ,” Jensen whispers, mouth grazing Jared’s cheek, “see how turned on you are…” lips just grazing Jared’s, “how much you want it.”

“Want _you_ ,” Jared breathes.

“How much you want _me_ ,” Jensen agrees, and then dips his head, kissing Jared, tongue pressing between Jared’s lips, kissing him deep, wet and messy. Hands moving down between them, weight resting on Jared’s chest, hips lifting as he finds the button on Jared’s jeans, popping it open and unzipping him, hands gripping the sides, and Jared wriggles his hips until Jensen pushes them halfway down his thighs. Jensen does the same thing with his own jeans, and then slides slightly down Jared’s body, hips gliding upward until he feels the hot, velvety length of Jared’s cock against his.

Jared groans at the sensation, whispering out Jensen’s name in a tangle of curses, hands grabbing at Jensen’s body, sliding down until he gets a firm grip on Jensen’s ass, mouth seeking Jensen’s, meeting in a collision of lips and teeth, and Jensen grinds down, sweet, perfect friction between them, Jared’s hips bucking underneath him.

“Feel… so good,” Jensen breathes into Jared’s mouth, and fuck yes, Jared _does_. Feels so good, desperate and wanting underneath him, gorgeous body rutting against Jensen, _wanting_ Jensen.

He rocks his hips up and down, Jared arching to meet him, drag and slide of their cocks together, pre-come slowly beginning to slick the way, heat coiling in his belly and spreading outward until he’s filled with it, mouth fused to Jared’s, kissing him desperately hard, hips moving faster, picking up speed. He pulls back, biting at Jared’s lower lip, rolling his hips into Jared’s _hard_ , pulling back fast and rocking into him again, feels the heat in his belly sharpen, pleasure spiking through him, feels Jared clutching at him, clinging to him, body tensing against Jensen’s, whispering out, “Oh, God, yeah.”

Jared’s on the verge, and Jensen grinds down against him, biting at the line of Jared’s jaw, rocks into him again, and again, faster, harder, until Jared’s panting in short breaths, fingers digging hard into the flesh of Jensen’s ass.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Jensen whispers, hips rolling wickedly against Jared’s, grinding up the length of Jared’s cock with his own. “Come on, Jared.”

Jared stiffens, crying out, spilling slick all over Jensen’s cock and both their bellies, and Jensen rocks his hips back, grinding up the length of Jared again, come slicking both their dicks, lessening the friction and increasing the sensation, and Jensen finally lets go then, rocking and rutting against Jared in a quick, hard rhythm, feeling the heat in him build to a crescendo. He comes in a jagged burst of pleasure, eyes closing, teeth clenched together as it tears through him, rhythm leaving him completely. He falls against Jared’s chest, hands gripping Jared’s shoulders, hips jerking and jolting as he rides it out, cock spurting into the wetness between them. When it finally recedes, leaving him shivering against Jared, Jared lets go of Jensen’s ass, hands coming up to grasp Jensen’s face, lifting it until Jared’s lips find his, kissing him gently. 

Jensen parts his lips, kisses Jared deep and slowly, thoroughly, hands coming up to tangle in Jared’s hair, kissing down into him until their hearts slow down and they can almost breathe normally again.

When Jensen finally pulls away, kissing Jared’s lips, Jared whispers out, “God, Jensen,” and Jensen can hear Jared’s _heart_ in those two words, all the emotion he’s feeling, and Jensen’s almost grateful that he can’t see him—see the emotion in his face, too.

Jensen kisses his lips again, long press of their mouths together, to let Jared know he heard it.

When he draws back this time, he’s far too conscious of the sticky mess between them.

“How are we going to clean that up in the dark?” Jared asks, his tone amused.

“I didn’t think this through,” Jensen agrees.

*

They manage to get a shirt out of Jared’s pack to clean themselves up with, and with an effort, find the rest of their clothes. After they’re dressed, they lie back down the way they had been before, Jared pressed up alongside Jensen, his head on Jensen’s chest.

“Thank you for telling me all of that,” Jared whispers. “I know it couldn’t have been easy for you.”

“I think I needed to tell someone,” Jensen responds, after a moment. “But I don’t think I could have told anyone else. Just you.” _And I don’t know if I could have told you if I’d had to look you in the eye_ , Jensen thinks.

Jared reaches over and takes the hand lying on Jensen’s chest, lacing his fingers through Jensen’s.

Jensen lifts the arm wrapped around Jared shoulders, fingertips gently brushing against Jared’s hair, hesitating for a moment. And then Jensen runs his fingers through Jared’s hair, letting the strands slip between, remembering all the times he’d wanted to do this that summer. 

 

*

_“This has been the best summer of my entire life.”_

_“Mine, too,” Jensen agrees._

_“Stay with me,” Jared whispers._

_It hurts, ache in Jensen’s heart, emptiness in his gut, and he can’t imagine how much more it’s going to hurt, having to say goodbye tomorrow._

_“You know I can’t,” Jensen whispers._

_“I’m going to miss you so much,” Jared says in a rush of breath, and Jensen can see the way his eyes glitter in the moonlight, beginning to fill with tears._

_“Shhh,” Jensen soothes. He presses his forefinger to his lips, kissing it gently before he settles it against Jared’s lower lip. “We can say goodbye tomorrow. Tonight, let’s just enjoy ourselves.”_

_He vows then and there that they’ll make tonight wonderful. Tomorrow, early, before the sun finishes rising, he’ll be on a ferry off the island. They can keep the memory of this summer perfect forever._

_They’ll never have a single memory of sadness._

_They’ll never have to say goodbye._

 

*

 

“I missed you so much after I left,” Jensen whispers, even though he knows Jared’s already asleep.

 

\-----

 

When Jared wakes, it’s because Jensen’s chest is shifting beneath his head. 

“Your turn for watch,” Jensen says.

“Okay.” Jared stretches. “What do I do?”

“You watch,” Jensen says, and Jared can hear the humor in his voice. 

“And if you hear anything,” the amusement has faded from Jensen’s voice completely, his tone completely serious, the intensity of it grounding. “ _Anything_ at all--you wake me up if I’m not already awake. I’m used to sleeping lightly and being gun ready.”

“I can do that.” Jared nods.

“Also you wake me up at first light. The second you can see. The longer we stay in one place, the more likely it is that they’ll find us, and they'll be on the move as soon as they can.”

 

*

 

It’s several hours later when Jared notices he can actually _see_ a little bit, light creeping in from the mouth of the cave.

“Jensen.” Jared doesn’t even get halfway to making the move to shake Jensen before Jensen sits up, rifle clutched between his hands almost faster than Jared can track.

“It’s morning,” Jared says.

“No movement?”

“No.”

Jensen sets the gun aside. “Time to get moving,” Jensen says, and then stretches.

Jensen gets on his hands and knees and beginning to gather up what little gear they’d taken out last night. Jared moves more slowly into action, stuffing a few things into his pack.

They eat canned fruit for breakfast, and each of them eats quickly and quietly, aware that time is passing.

They’re exiting the mouth of the cave, side by side when Jared looks over at Jensen.

“Is…” Jared says, letting the word hang on the air between them.

Jensen pauses, looking over at Jared, seeming vaguely confused. “Is what?”

Jared wants to ask if everything is okay between them. Jared isn’t sure what last night means—can still barely believe last night happened—but he knows it changes things between them. To have Jensen tell him he’s the only person he trusts, to kiss Jensen like that, feel Jensen against him like that, naked and full of raw want… these are things Jared can never un-know. But he also knows after everything Jensen has been through, there’s no way he’s ready to jump right into this. 

Jared needs to let him have his space, come to things in his own time.

“Nothing,” Jared responds and shakes his head, waving the words away. He turns and takes a step closer to Jensen then, leaning in slightly, hesitating, giving Jensen time to draw back—but he doesn’t, so Jared leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Jensen’s lips.

 _It’s okay. I’m here. I’ll wait._ It’s the only way Jared knows how to say it without having a whole conversation about it.

“Let’s go,” Jared says as he pulls away, kneeling down to start the climb back to the ground.

 

*

 

They’ve been walking for about an hour when Jensen stops to adjust his pack. Jared walks ahead a few feet, noticing a tree that looks like it might…

Yes. There are clumps of big, round black berries dangling from the slender branches. They’re not any kind of berries Jared recognizes though, some sort of brown growth protruding from the bottom of each one, coming to a tiny point. He reaches out, taking one between his thumb and forefinger, noting the fullness of it, and turns his head to look back at Jensen.

“Hey, Jensen,” he calls.

Jensen looks up from tightening the shoulder strap on his pack.

“Do you know what kind of berries these are?”

Jensen finishes tightening the strap and then stands, pulling the pack onto his shoulders, walking over to Jared.

“Northern Black Currant,” he says, plucking one from the cluster. “Non-poisonous.”

From behind them comes the loud, explosive breath of something very _large_.

Jensen grabs Jared by the wrist. “We’re going to turn around on three and you are going to follow my lead. Do not run. Run and it will chase you and catch you. We have to stand our ground. Okay?”

Jared doesn’t know what’s happening, stomach clenching, backs of his knees going soft as bubblegum, but he nods to show he understands what Jensen’s saying.

“One… two... three.”

Jared slowly turns… and there’s a huge, shaggy, black bear standing maybe a couple hundred feet away from them. 

“Don’t look it in the eye,” Jensen instructs him, “never in the eye, but keep it in your vision.”

The bear slams one massive paw against the ground, snapping its teeth at the air, maw pink and filled with sharp, yellowing teeth. Jared is terrified, everything in him screaming to run away.

“Stay with me, stay calm,” Jensen tells him, his voice level and low. And then he speaks to the bear, voice just as even. “Hey big fella. It’s all right. We’re just passing through.”

“Shoot it,” Jared whispers, and his voice is anything but steady.

“I am not going to shoot it,” Jensen says in the same, calm tone. “One, a gunshot would lead Misha right to us. Two, it’s not attacking us. Three, shut up.”

The bear huffs out a loud breath, and then groans, swatting at the ground again.

“It’s being defensive right now,” Jensen goes on, like he’s instructing a class for people who might be scared of him. “Talking calmly like this lets it know we’re human and we’re not a threat.”

The bear paws at the ground, and Jensen takes Jared by the hand. “It’s probably going to charge at us. Don’t move. Stand your ground and it’s likely to stop before actually reaching us.”

“Likely?” Jared asks.

“If it doesn’t, I’ll shoot it.”

The bear snorts, lowering its head and Jensen’s fingers squeeze Jared’s so tight that it _hurts_. Forepaws digging into the earth and the bear springs into motion, lumbering gait gaining speed as it rushes at them, and Jared’s never been this scared in his life, literally rooted to the spot in a terror so complete he can’t form a single, coherent thought. He can feel his heart rabbiting inside his ribcage, his lungs struggling to draw breath, but it’s almost like it’s happening to someone else.

Claws digging furrows into the earth, dirt thrown carelessly into the air behind it, and it’s moving too fast, _so_ fast, it isn’t going to stop—

The bear draws up short ten feet from where they stand, shaggy head turning to the side.

“There you go,” Jensen says, somehow managing to speak—somehow managing to speak without betraying an ounce of fear. “Jared, this is the part where we back away. _Slowly_.”

Jensen’s grip on his hand loosens fractionally, but he tugs Jared to the side, leading him back the way the way they came. They take short, painstakingly, slow steps, Jared keeping the bear within his line of vision. It hasn’t lost interest in them, but it isn’t pursuing them, either.

They keep moving together in tandem, Jared trying not to breathe too hard, until finally, the bear fades from view, lost somewhere in the backdrop of the forest.

They take a few hundred more steps backward after that, and then, Jensen stops.

“It didn’t follow us, we’re okay.”

Jared breathes out hard, fingers flexing through Jensen’s, and then he lets go, ass hitting the forest floor, hands running through his hair. “Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ, Jensen.”

Jensen kneels down next to Jared, hand settling on Jared’s shoulder. “Hey.” His voice is gentle, fingers squeezing the muscle of Jared’s shoulder. “It was just a bear. You’ve probably had shark encounters that were worse than that.”

Jared laughs, loud and tittering. “Actually,” he nods, “I have. I’m a marine biologist; sharks are part of the life. But I _know_ how to handle sharks.”

Jensen tilts his head in a brief sort of nod. “Think of bears as land sharks. They don’t really want to tangle with you unless they think you’re food. But act like prey when you encounter them and they’ll treat you like prey. That one wasn’t aggressive—if it had been we’d have been aggressive right back, just like with sharks. But when you encounter a shark in normal circumstances, you try to show you’re not a threat or prey. You stay calm. No sudden movements. Like we just did.”

Jared considers that for a moment, and it makes sense. Actually, it puts things in perspective. “I had to poke a shark in the eye, once, to make it stop circling me.”

Jensen blinks several times, brows drawing together in a slight frown. “And yet, a bear freaked you out?” 

“I didn’t know how to make it go away,” Jared admits, resentful of Jensen’s tone. “How do you know how to deal with bears, anyway? Or what Northern Black Currant berries are?”

Jensen’s chest contracts with a huff of air that’s not quite a laugh. “Do you think I’d move _anywhere_ now without studying every single thing about the area first?”

No. After everything Jensen’s been through, of course he wouldn’t. And the question is rhetorical, doesn’t require a response, but Jared still feels moved to answer, “I’m glad you did.”

“Paranoia sometimes pays off,” Jensen says with a hard smile.

Jared looks him right in the eye, hand rising to cover Jensen’s against his shoulder. “Without your paranoia, we’d both be completely fucked, or dead, right now. So there’s that.”

“Yeah.” Jensen nods. “I guess there is.”

Jared wants to lean forward, wants to kiss him, tell him it’s okay. And then Jensen’s hand slides from beneath Jared’s, moving from Jared’s shoulder to the back of Jared’s neck, sliding up through his hair, pulling him in close, lips meeting his forehead in a kiss.

Jared closes his eyes briefly, and then Jensen’s pulling back, taking Jared’s hand in an offer to help him up.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

 

*

 

They walk on until the forest thins, sound of rushing water drowning out the steady drone of insects and the cries of birds. The river is small but noisy, water crashing against and over rocks, foaming white and frothy around them. They pause at the edge, rinsing their hands and faces the best they can. Jensen cups his palms together and lifts a handful to his mouth, drinking it down.

“It’s spring fed, not ocean,” he says, when he sees Jared look at him skeptically.

Jared drinks two handfuls even though the water is nearly freezing cold, and Jensen tops off the water skin they’ve been drinking from. 

As the sun begins get lower in the sky, the search for shelter for the night. They aren’t close enough to the mountains to find another cave, but they do find a stand of huge pine trees with a clearing in the center. According to Jensen, this is as almost good as a cave because it’s less obvious, and they’re so deep in the center they won’t be easily found by normal means, and they’ll hear anyone trying to push their way through the trees. 

They eat from cans again, and the dark comes on cold. Not as cold as last night, but still chillier weather than either of them is dressed for. Moonlight falls into the clearing, illuminating them in shades of milk and shadow.

Jensen moves up next to Jared, nudging against his side, and Jared leans in, feeling Jensen’s arm come up around his shoulders. Jensen pulls him close, and Jared wraps his arm around Jensen, fingertips resting on Jensen’s waist. They sit like that for a couple of minutes, side by side in silence, and in the distance, an owl hoots. It sounds exactly like the owl sound he’s heard in movies, which creeps Jared out, because it typically precedes something bad happening to whoever is nearby.

“I feel like I’m in a horror movie all of a sudden,” Jared whispers.

Jensen chuckles under his breath. “It’s a Great Horned Owl. Uncommon around here, but not unusual.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Jared leans his head to the side, temple coming to rest against Jensen’s. The truth is, though, they may as well be in a horror movie. They could both die any second if Misha or any of his group finds them.

They sit like that a few moments more, Jared so conscious of Jensen’s warmth against him, can’t help wanting to feel more of him. “I know,” Jared breathes. “I really do. I know if this is ever going to be anything, I need to let you be comfortable and take your time. And I’m not pushing you for anything, I’m not at all. Just….”

Jensen reaches over, fingers catching underneath Jared’s jaw and turning his face, lips brushing Jared’s lightly. Barest pressure sending tingles all through him, and God what Jensen does to him. Jared struggles to hold on to his thought, needs to say this.

Jared turns so that he’s looking at Jensen sideways, hand resting on the small of Jensen’s back, and then Jensen turns to face him.

“Just in case we die,” Jared says, “there are things I want you to know.”

“We’re not going to die,” Jensen replies, voice smooth and deep, and it would be so easy to believe him.

“But if we _do_ ,” Jared goes on, “I want you to know…”

He takes a deep breath, trying to decide where to start. There’s so much… 

"Over the years, sometimes I thought about us, what we meant to each other,” Jared says. 

“And I wondered… did you think about me? All those years that came afterward… did you remember me, like I remembered you? And I thought… how could you not? You had to think about me at least as often as I thought about you. Even if it was less often, you had to think about me sometimes like I thought about you… because the way I cared about you…" Jared shakes his head. "You were the best thing I’d ever known in my life, and even if we didn’t… even if it wasn’t what we wanted it to be… what _I_ wanted it to be… I felt like it was the best thing either of us ever had."

"But then, sometimes, I thought… you just erased me. Because that would be easier. That you just eradicated me from your life. And even though I could think it, I could never understand it. Because you were there, around every corner, through so much of my life. Through the worst and best turns of my experiences, I thought about you. I imagined how you would fit into my world through those situations, because there was part of me that always believed you were there. And even now, years afterward, there’s still a part of me that thinks of you as being there—that still fits you into my life. That’s how integral you are."

"That’s what you were—that’s what you are," Jared whispers, forehead leaning against Jensen’s, forearms wrapping around his shoulders. "That’s what you mean to me."

"I don’t think I was ever what you thought I was," Jensen whispers back.

"You were part of me when I met you, and that’s never changed."

"We collided during the perfect moment before our lives went separate directions," Jensen agrees. "But we're different people now, Jared. No matter what I think, or what you think, we were never that perfect. We just," Jensen shakes his head against Jared's forehead, "hit a peak together."

"Peaks are bullshit," Jared contradicts with a smirk. "Peaks are being so happy you think it will never end. And then, you go on, you work through the valleys, too. Happiness is a peak, but reality is something else. Pure happiness forever never happens. Good times and bad times are what happens. Sticking through those times together... That was always you and me."

"And now that I've met you again... I'm only even more convinced. Jensen... we're colliding again right now. How do you feel about that?" Jared asks, his lips so close to Jensen's. "Because it's pretty fucking amazing--that against all these scientific odds we met up again. And you can use all the science in the world to explain it, but science doesn't lend itself to the emotional meaning."

"Science is, by nature, without emotional meaning," Jensen responds with seeming difficulty.

"Science is," Jared nods. "But you're not. _We're_ not." 

"No," Jensen whispers. "We're not. And that's the problem. You're a variable, Jared. An incredibly dangerous one."

"I'm not dangerous, Jensen," Jared whispers against Jensen's mouth. "I'm scary, yes, but that's because I'm the real thing."

"That's exactly why you're dangerous."

“I’ll never, ever, be dangerous,” Jared promises. “Imagine any scenario you want, but I could never be bad for you.”

“Not bad,” Jensen agrees. “But it is scary. Realizing you’re the only person I trust... the fact that I trust _anyone_ at all…”

“I know,” Jared nods. “It’s huge. And I’m not asking for anything more than you want to give me—anything more than what you _can_ give me, because I know those two things might not be the same, given what you’ve been through. I just want you to know how amazing I think all of this is, how much you’ve meant to me ever since I met you, what an impact you made on my life. How much I cared about you then and how I always have and always will. I think those are things worth knowing.”

Jensen is silent, looking down at the ground instead of at Jared, and Jared can feel him swallow hard.

“Jensen… I probably wouldn’t be who I am today if I hadn’t met you. I always loved the ocean… but… meeting you… knowing you…” Jared laces his fingers behind Jensen’s neck, “you’re the reason I became a marine biologist.”

“Jared,” Jensen whispers, voice unsteady.

“Why do you think I came here, Jensen? Why do you think I’m investigating oil levels in the water? Why do you think I did everything that landed us in this mess? Because I knew _you_. Because you inspired me.”

Jensen doesn’t say anything for what feels like an eternity, and Jared is about to apologize when Jensen looks up from the ground and meets his eyes. There’s wetness caught in the fringe of his long lashes, disbelief reflected in his eyes.

“All of that… it’s true?” 

“Every single word,” Jared whispers without hesitation. “God, Jensen. I’m sorry. I know it’s a lot but--”

Jensen’s mouth is on Jared’s before Jared understands what’s happening, Jensen’s hands tangling in his hair and pulling him into a crushing kiss, lips a wet smear of heat against his. Jared opens to him, moaning at the sensation of Jensen’s tongue pushing inside his mouth with wet, slippery heat. Kissing him fiercely, desperately, rough and messy and breathing out hard against Jared, fingers winding tight in his hair. 

“Jared.” Jensen breathes his name against Jared’s mouth. “If we were safe right now…” Jensen’s voice is raw emotion and sheer want, and it brings tears to Jared’s eyes, sends a rush of heat through him.

Jensen kisses him again, hard and deep, pulling out slow, cupping Jared’s face in his hands. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for the truth.”

Jensen smiles, and then lifts his face, pressing a kiss to Jared’s forehead.

 

*

 

Jared wakes at dawn to find Jensen pacing the clearing. Jensen looks as fresh and gorgeous as ever, despite the fact they haven’t showered in two days, and apparently Jensen hasn’t slept.

“I was supposed to take second watch,” Jared says, blinking in confusion.

“I live on little to no sleep,” Jensen says, smiling at him.

  



	6. Chapter 6

They walk through the forest silent as foxes, and Jared doesn’t have a good gauge of what time it is, but he’d guess it’s maybe 11am when the sound of voices carries to them from a distance. 

Jensen puts a finger to his lips, and they move as quietly and quickly as they can in the direction of the mountains. Jensen’s probably hoping for some kind of crevice or if they’re incredibly lucky, another cave, to hide in. If nothing else, there’s always the trees, but Jared knows that’s a last ditch option.

They find a space in the rock of the mountain they can _just_ squeeze through if they turn sideways, and there isn’t much room once they do, but it’s at least wide enough for them to sort of walk through, winding deeper into the base of the mountain. It opens abruptly on a huge cave, ground mildly grading down to a large pool of water at the center. There’s a large hole punched through the rock of the ceiling above the pool, sunlight falling through and hitting the water, illuminating it.

“Better than I expected,” Jensen says in a low voice, so his voice doesn’t echo off the walls. “We have light _and_ there’s only one easy way in or out,” Jensen notes. “They could scale the mountain and maybe rig themselves to sling down in here, if they have the equipment.”

The image of men dressed all in black dropping down through the hole in the ceiling—guns blazing—flashes through Jared mind.

“But even if they did, it seems unlikely they’d try to scale the mountain when they don’t know there’s another way to get to us,” Jensen goes on. He’s quiet, seeming to think it over for another moment. “It’s what we’ve got; we’ll have to make it work.” 

Jensen turns his head to look at Jared. “I’ll cover the entrance. In that tight space they’ll be at a disadvantage. You watch the other direction; look for any shadows or signs of movement. We’ll wait here a couple of hours, make sure they’ve gone past,” Jensen says as they move to the left side of the entrance. “Then we should double-back the way we came, put as much distance between us and them as possible.”

Jared chews at his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Jensen… what happens if they do catch up to us eventually?”

“You let me handle that,” Jensen tells him in no uncertain terms.

And it’s all well and good, Jensen wanting to protect him—and there’s no doubt Jensen’s been a soldier in a war and is far more experienced than Jared. But Jared isn’t exactly helpless. “I _can_ fight you know.”

Jensen gives him a skeptical look. “You’re a geeky marine biologist. A massively built marine biologist who clearly works out, but having muscle and knowing how to use it are two different things. You can’t fight them.”

Jared shrugs out of his pack, letting it drop to the ground. “I’m gonna show you something. Trust me, okay?”

\-----

 

Jensen nods, and then Jared spins so fast Jensen can barely track it, leg coming up, foot barely catching Jensen’s chin.

Jensen goes down in the dirt on his ass, and then looks up at Jared, one hand rubbing his chin. “Okay then,” Jensen acquiesces.

Jared smiles and picks up his pack.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Jensen feels a little dazed, but only a little. It was a glancing blow, and Jensen suddenly has no doubt that was the exact, intended effect. Jared could have done him serious damage, but all he’d done was prove his point. Jensen isn’t sure how he never knew about this.

“When I was little, I had so much energy it drove my mom crazy, so she put me in classes for Taekwondo. I was a third degree black belt by the time I graduated high school.”

“Huh.” Jensen picks himself up off the ground, balancing his pack on his back. 

“Okay. Hand to hand, fine,” Jensen nods. “But Jared… if they start shooting, you get your ass to cover, okay? You get your ass to cover and then run if you can. Leave me behind.”

____

 

Jared hesitates, reluctant.

“I _mean_ it, Jared. If anything happened to you…” Jensen doesn’t finish the sentence, but it’s clear what he means.

“Okay,” Jared nods.

Jared settles his pack down against the rock wall and kneels, unzipping it and beginning to dig through to see what canned food he has left.

Jensen puts a hand on Jared’s arm, catching his attention.

“Here,” Jensen says, holding out a gun to Jared. “Do you know how to shoot?”

Jared shakes his head, looking at the gun, doubtful.

“It’s pretty simple as handguns go.” Jensen grips the gun handle in his palm. “You let off the safety like this,” Jensen says as he demonstrates. “Then you just point and shoot. If you need to reload, you push your thumb against this button… and the ammo cartridge will fall out. Push in a new one and you’re ready to go.” Jensen clicks the safety back on and spins his wrist, opening his hand and offering the gun to Jared on his palm. “I’d teach you how to shoot, but it’s not like we have the luxury of making that kind of noise.”

Jared takes the gun, unfamiliar weight of it heavy in his hand.

“You only use that if you absolutely have to,” Jensen tells him in a voice that brooks no argument. “In emergencies—like if you get pinned down and I’m not there.” _If something happens to me_ , goes unspoken, but Jared hears it anyway.

Jared nods, fitting the handle to his palm, testing out how it feels in his grip.

Jensen gives him six clips of ammo to go with the gun, and Jared makes room for four of them in his pack, the other two tucked into the back pockets of his jeans. He’d ask why Jensen is giving him a gun now, when they’ve been here two and a half days, but he knows why. This is the first time Misha’s group has gotten anywhere near them and they’re stuck in an area with no way out except facing them, if it comes to that.

Jared glances over, noting Jensen still has the gun in his thigh holster as well as his rifle slung around his neck, and wonders how many guns Jensen has.

There’s been so much between them, so much they’ve had to focus on, and so much focusing on each other when they’ve had down time. The reality of the situation hasn’t really hit Jared.

There are people chasing them. Theoretical people they may never actually encounter, fuck willing. And the threat of death has been enough for Jared to confess more than he’d ever meant to. He knows theoretical death has been out there, stalking them. But this is the first time since Misha’s grandstand play on the boat that Jared’s felt the insistent immediacy of _now_ pressing in on him. The voices behind them in the forest earlier—the fact that Jensen’s giving him a gun—makes it real in a way that doesn’t lend itself to confessions. It sets him on edge, leaves him with his back against the rock wall, alternately watching Jensen and experimenting with the gun in his hand.

Jared doesn’t know if he could kill someone—anyone—even if he had no other choice. Jensen, admittedly, wouldn’t have the same problem, but the reasons for that hurt Jared to the core. He would never want or expect Jensen to kill someone, not even in this situation. But come down to it… it’s a damned good thing Jensen wouldn’t hesitate. Because Jared would.

And he realizes that’s ultimately why Jensen gave him this gun. Because he knows Jared will only use it in the direst of circumstances, if ever. And the direst of circumstances might be approaching, right now.

Jensen has probably dealt with this before; he’s probably reverted to a mode of behavior that is so deeply ingrained that it transcends PTSD. But it can’t be good for him. Finding himself in another crazy situation where he has to fight for his life… Jensen can do it, of course. Jared is sure of that. But what is it going to cost him?

What is going to cost both of them, if it comes to that?

He glances over at Jensen covering the entrance, down on one knee; rifle held tight between his hands, barrel lying on the very edge of his upraised leg, muscles coiled like a tiger about to spring.

Jared plays at releasing the cartridge on the gun multiple times after doing it once to make sure he has it right--practices releasing the safety and drawing back on the trigger just enough. Knows the actual firing of the gun will have a kick he can’t account for and none of his pointing and aiming will mean a damned thing. That’s one thing he’s pretty sure TV and movies got right. Shooting someone—anything—takes practice.

“Relax,” Jensen whispers across the space between them. “It’s like shooting pool, and I remember teaching you how to do that. You line up the shot, line it up again, lock your body into the mechanics of making it, take a breath and relax, and then make the shot

“That easy?” Jared asks.

“No,” Jensen says. “Not ever that easy. But if you want to live, that’s how you do it. That’s how you _have_ to do it. But only if you have to. You let me take the lead if there’s killing to be done.”

Jared bites down against his lower lip. “And that won’t hurt you?”

“This is survival, Jared. There’s no moral dilemma for me here. What you’ve discovered is more important than either one of us. It’s so important that they hired someone to kill you.”

“I didn’t think you cared about that anymore.”

“Bullshit, you didn’t,” Jensen scoffs. “You knew I cared about it even though I didn’t want to. Don’t backpedal now, just because you’re scared.”

“I _am_ scared,” Jared whispers.

“I know.” Jensen reaches out, fingers curling around the back of Jared’s neck, pulling him forward until their foreheads touch. “Bottom line, it doesn’t matter what you were researching. I would never let anyone hurt you, much less kill you,” Jensen whispers, fingertips digging into Jared’s neck.

And Jared knows that, knows it soul deep. He’s scared of dying, but he’s more terrified he’ll get Jensen killed.

“You’re not allowed to die for me,” Jared insists.

“Please,” Jensen smiles, lips brushing Jared’s briefly, and then he lets go of Jared, picking up the rifle slung around his chest, holding it at ready. “Like I ever planned on dying.”

 

*

Jared feels like they’ve been waiting forever when Jensen finally says, “It’s been almost two hours. We need to move out. Find out if they’re waiting. We need to start heading back in the direction they came from.”

Jared takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay.”

“I’m going to go out first. You’re going to stay just inside the entrance so you can watch my back. Got it?”

“Yeah.”

Heart pounding in his throat, gun clamped tight in his hand, Jared follows Jensen through the narrow space between rock walls. He wonders what getting shot feels like, heartbeat thundering in his ears, sweat dripping down the length of his spine as they approach the opening to the forest.

He squeezes the gun so hard he feels like his knuckles are going to pop, Jensen trying to get a look at each side of the opening before they step out. Jensen kneels on one knee, motioning for Jared to do the same, then motioning for Jared to stay, and Jared’s more scared than when they faced down the bear, tension stretching every nerve in his body so tight he feels like he’s going to snap.

Jensen ducks his head and before Jared understands what’s happening, Jensen has rolled through entrance and spun around, still crouched down as he sweeps his gun back and forth across the mountain’s base. Jared doesn’t see anyone in the woods beyond Jensen, but Jensen spins around, doing an entire circle sweep before he finally stands and motions Jared outside.

There’s no one here. There’s no one waiting for them.

No shootout, no fighting for their lives, and Jared breathes out a sigh of relief. 

 

*

 

They camp that night in a thicket, which is good visual cover but less substantial than the other places they’ve camped so far.

Jensen tells Jared he has first watch. Jensen’s arm around him, head against his chest and Jared can feel how he relaxes just a fraction as he lies against him. Rifle just within reach, handgun still strapped against his thigh.

Jared’s phone is dead; he doesn’t have any idea what time it is, but he waits until it feels like halfway through the night, barely moving to wake Jensen.

Just about the time Jared is falling asleep, it begins to rain. It’s a steady, light rain, droplets of water dripping slowly through the tangle of branches above them, and Jared falls asleep to the patter of it.

When Jensen wakes him in the morning, it’s still raining, and Jared is surprised to find he’s damp, but not soaked. His pack is waterproof, so it’ll be fine traveling through the actual rain once they leave here, but the terrain is going to be muddy, which in a landscape mostly comprised of hills and mountains is nothing to be laughed at.

“How long do you think the rain will last?” Jared asks as he starts gathering up his things.

“Probably until March,” Jensen responds, shouldering into his pack.

“Seriously?”

“Did you or did you not do the reading on the local weather? That’s kind of important research when you’re a diver.”

“Of course I did.” Jared rolls his eyes. “But I thought June was fairly dry?”

“It still rains in June,” Jensen says, meeting his eyes. “We’re lucky we made it this long.” 

 

*

 

The rain does stop after a couple hours, although the sky remains slate gray, as if it hasn’t quite made up its mind yet. They’re climbing a steep angle rising up from the forest floor, holding on to trees as they find their footing. The ridge isn’t too far off, but when Jared looks back, level ground seems _really_ far away. He wonders how high they are. 

Jared takes another step, then two, and that’s when they hear it—the sound of muffled voices in the distance behind them. 

Fuck. Jared’s heart picks up speed, sudden adrenaline rushing through him. They haven’t been spotted yet, but shit, they’re so close.

Jensen’s slightly ahead of him on his left, looking over his shoulder and Jared and motioning him hurriedly forward. Jared’s just cresting the top of the ridge when he looks back and sees Jensen slip in the mud and fall to one knee. The sudden movement snaps the sapling he’d been holding onto, and he starts sliding backward.

Jared reaches for him even though Jensen’s more than ten feet away.

Jensen whispers in a ferocious rush, “You’ve got the laptop, run.”

It’s the last thing he says before gravity grabs hold of him and he falls backward down the hill.

Jared stands there, watching in horror as Jensen tumbles helplessly toward the bottom.

 

\-----

 

When Jensen comes to, he’s tied to a tree, arms pulled backward around the trunk, wrists tied. His ankles are bound as well, he finds when he tests his ability to move.

There’s a fire in front of him, blazing bright orange against the blackness of night. But he doesn’t fully come to consciousness, doesn’t fully understand, until he sees the face that dips into his vision.

Misha smirks, looking down at him thoughtfully, eyes squinting as he surveys Jensen. “You’re awake.”

Misha, Misha has him. He takes a quick glance around, doesn’t see Jared—then realizes they’d both be dead by now if Misha had caught them both.

Thank fuck Misha has him instead of Jared, Jensen thinks.

And then, no, fuck. Better if Misha had Jared, because Jared would never do what Jensen would to rescue him.

Jared would never be able to shoot that smug, self-satisfied grin right between the eyes. Jared’s never had to kill people, but Jensen… fuck, it should have been Jensen that was free, because he would shoot Misha and these lackey motherfuckers dead in a heartbeat.

Jared would never do that.

But that’s okay. It’s all right--because it’s fine if Jensen dies, as long as Jared gets away. Jensen can be the perfect distraction, give Jared time.

Jensen assesses all of this in the three or four seconds he’s been awake.

“I know what you’re thinking. In a better world, I’d have grabbed Jared instead of you,” Misha laughs, seeming to read Jensen’s mind.

Misha falls to one knee in front of Jensen, blocking his view of the fire, light shining like a halo around him.

“You’re an interesting person, Jensen. You’re an asshole, and I never liked you--”

“Likewise,” Jensen grins, the expression hurting his face.

Misha tilts his head in a nod, agreeing. “But you _are_ interesting. I so rarely encounter someone worthy of noting.”

“I’m so honored,” Jensen sneers, and fuck, his face hurts. Not that he cares, but it’s something he’s rapidly becoming aware of; he’s been beaten on. His eyes ache, his cheeks burn, and his nose is throbbing in pain.

“See,” Misha says. “And that’s the thing.”

“Oh, please, enlighten me with your incredible insight into my personality,” Jensen deadpans.

“You’re such a sarcastic shit,” Misha says, like Jensen’s only confirming whatever his thoughts may be. “But I’ve been thinking… about what you said, since the last time we talked,” Misha goes on, eyes pulling up to the left in thought. “You said Nietsze might have needed some addendums… I remember that very distinctly,” Misha iterates, grabbing Jensen by the jaw and smiling down at him. “So here they are.”

Misha tilts his head, peering at Jensen intently. “Nietsze was nihilist. He believed that everything was without meaning except that which we assign it, that we were all disassociated; that everything always was leading to death. And even if you look at that as a metaphor for dying… you’re still, actually dying,” words breathed out against Jensen’s lips. “Tiny little deaths, every day you’re alive. The second you set in stone what you believe in, or do what you think someone may expect of you—or the second that you don’t—they’re all spiritual deaths; complete and total deaths that live on, whether you keep breathing or not.”

“But to take the meaninglessness of something, the dissociative nature, and accept it as _human_ nature—and then to imbue that with a kindness, with a sense of morality—that’s a dichotomy.” Misha’s forehead rolls back and forth against Jensen’s, mouth whispering intimately into his. “That’s something Nietsze never accounted for. That’s an extraordinary person. That’s a person who’s stared into the abyss and doesn’t give a fuck that it stared back into them. That…” Misha breathes, hand reaching up to caress Jensen’s jaw, sliding up the curve of his cheek, fingertips gliding through his hair. “THAT, is a person who will not stand down or step back, even though they feel like they know what will happen.”

Heated breath against Jensen’s mouth, “They don’t _care_ if they die—because they believe. And even though the universe tells them run away, they walk right into the face of it and never care. Because deep down inside, they _know_.”

“They are tiny,” Misha breathes. “Insignificant. Nothing they do matters.”

“All that matters is what they do. “

“And those people, will never, ever, _stop_ ,” Misha grates, fingers clenching against Jensen’s hair. “Because they’ve got nothing left to lose.”

“You’re one of those people, aren’t you, Jensen? That’s what makes you so dangerous. You’re a nihilist, but not a fatalist.”

“And if it were Jared here, in your shoes, you wouldn’t stop trying to save him. There’s literally nothing you wouldn’t do. If I had grabbed Jared, you’d expect to sail in, save him. Game over. The fact that I captured _you_? “Misha laughs, shaking his head. “That turns your game inside out.” 

Misha fixes his gaze on Jensen. “Because you do have something left to lose, don’t you? Oh, you didn’t think you did, but then there he was. And here… you are.”

Jensen’s definitely bleeding from one nostril, his mouth, possibly an eye socket, but he can’t help the way the corner of his mouth curls in a grin. “Are you gonna kill me or analyze me to death?”

Misha laughs, unaffected. “Big strong, strapping hero. That’s your role here, isn’t it? The hero that always comes out on top, beats all the odds and _lives_. You lived through war, through torture... you think that makes you special.”

He isn’t surprised Misha knows; with Misha’s connections, it wouldn’t have been hard to get his hands on the official records of what happened to Jensen. “I think what makes me special is I’m the only leverage you’ve got. But Jared’s never going to give you what you want. I’m not worth forfeiting what he’s got. And it’s not like he could rescue me.”

“Oh Jensen,” Misha laughs with a pure delight that chills him. “You still don’t understand.”

He grabs Jensen by the chin, face shoving within a scant inch of his own. “He’ll come.” Words whispered out intimately, lips moving a hair’s breadth from Jensen’s own, blue eyes boring into his, fierce fire and complete honesty. “He’ll bargain, or he’ll fight. But he’ll come for you.” Misha rubs his thumb across Jensen’s lower lip, shaking his head fractionally as he stares into Jensen’s eyes. “And either way, I’ll get what I want.”

“You miscalculated.” Jensen laughs in his face. “I’m an acceptable loss.”

Misha smiles at him slowly, almost sadly. “There are no acceptable losses in love.”

_in love_

No. No, that can’t—he can’t be right. 

Jared loved him, Jensen’s become sure of that over the last week and a half—Jared had loved him. And he’d loved Jared; he knows that now, even if he was too stupid to see it at the time.

But it’s been eight years, and Jared doesn’t love him anymore. At best, they’ve been finding their way back to where they were before. 

“You’re an idiot,” Jensen tells Misha in no uncertain terms.

“Stupid, beautiful boy,” Misha whispers back. “How little you know.”

Misha cocks his head to the side, looking down at Jensen. “Does it hurt to be that stupid? I could see how much he loved you the first time I saw him look at you. And you should have heard the way he’d talk about you whenever we’d go out. If I had actually been interested in dating him, I’d have given up all hope after hearing him talk about you.”

“You’re wrong,” Jensen grates.

Misha has to be wrong. Jensen _needs_ Misha to be wrong, because more than anything else, Jensen needs Jared to be safe.

There’s a sound behind Misha, and the fire sends up a shower of sparks above the level of Misha’s head. Misha spins around as he gets to his feet, walking over to the fire and looking around. The shadows are deep at the edge of light, and Jensen knows it’s impossible to see anything in them. Misha’s goons have pulled in close around the fire as well, eyes scanning the woods.

Misha shrugs, apparently dismissing it, and then--

The fire _explodes_ , sound and brightness sending Misha covering his face and falling backward.

Jensen’s still reeling from the explosion when someone cuts the bonds on his wrists then kneels down in front of him. Ropes binding his ankles cut, forehead pressed against his, fingers finding Jensen’s, massaging them gently. 

“We have to go.”

Jensen blinks against the gigantic flash of light obscuring his vision. “Jared?”

“Now,” Jared whispers, pulling Jensen to his feet. “Before they get up.”

Jensen could kiss Jared for coming up with this plan instead of trying to shoot his way in or bargain with Misha, but he doesn’t, lets Jared pull him along on his feet, terrified that Misha or one of his men will catch them, so triumphant that Jared figured out a way at all.

“Jared. What did you throw on the fire?”

“My butane can. With a couple of modifications. 

So fucking smart, he’s always been so smart.

“Are you okay?” Jared asks.

“Fine. Give me your gun,” Jensen whispers, clenching his fingers through Jared’s.

Jared pulls the gun from the small of his back and hands it off to Jensen wordlessly. Jensen keeps moving with Jared, waits until the flash fades from his eyes, and then he tugs on Jared’s hand, pulling left and then down next to the shelter of a huge fallen tree.

“What are you doing? They’re probably right behind us,” Jared whispers out as low as he can.

“Exactly,” Jensen says, smirking as he cocks the gun. There’s enough moonlight filtering down through the boughs of the trees that he’ll be able to see them as well as he needs to.

It’s only a minute before he can hear someone approaching, another few seconds before he can see the silhouettes of two figures making their way through the trees toward them. They’re both holding rifles in their hands, heads turning, trying to look everywhere. Jensen barely breathes, motionless, gun aimed on the closest one, waiting until they’re just a little closer.

They’re about twenty yards away when Jensen pulls the trigger, gunshot deafening as it shatters the silence.

The first figure goes down, and Jensen swings the gun levelly, shooting the second one before he has a chance to move for cover.

He waits several minutes, and finally lowers the gun. “I think that’s it.”

“There are only three of them, including Misha. That’s all I saw when I scoped out the camp.”

“Those were the goons. Misha would send them out first.”

“Do you think he’s coming?”

Jensen shakes his head slowly. “Not from that direction. He’s probably trying to circle behind us.” Jensen bites at his lower lip thoughtfully. “We should keep moving.”

“Which way?”

Jensen can’t see the stars, so he can’t tell which direction is what, but it doesn’t really matter anyway. It’s not like they know where they’re going. It’s not like it matters.

“Any way we go at this point, he’ll probably find us. We’re within his radius.”

“Then we keep going this way,” Jared says, rising to his feet, pulling Jensen up.

 

*

 

They move through the woods as fast as they can, hand in hand until the trees thin out, expanse of rock opening abruptly in front of them. Jensen can hear the crash of waves from far below and realizes they’ve run almost right to the edge of a cliff face.

He’s about to tell Jared they need to double back when a figure moves into his vision from the left.

In the open moonlight he can see Misha clearly, gun pointed at them. 

“Don’t feel bad. Pretty much anything this direction would have ended up running you to the edge of a cliff.”

Jensen’s still got the gun in the hand that isn’t holding Jared’s. If he can—

“Uh uh.” Misha says, shaking his head and swiveling the gun just a bit to aim at Jared. “Do it and he dies. Now, drop it on the ground and kick it hard to me.”

Jensen grits his teeth and does as he’s told. The gun skitters across the rock, stopping just past Misha.

“Now, come closer, my pretties,” Misha grins, motioning them forward, grinning.

They move forward from the edge of the tree line until Misha signals them to stop. They’re within several feet of the gun Misha has trained on Jared.

“So which one of you should I kill first?” Misha asks, thoughtfully swiveling the gun back to Jensen. “You? You are the hero of the story, after all. And you’d die knowing you failed. Knowing you can’t protect Jared from me killing him next.”

“But then…” Misha swivels the gun back on Jared. “It would probably kill you even more to watch him die first. _That_ kind of failure might just break you completely. Hell, you’d probably beg me to shoot you, then.”

“I don’t have the laptop,” Jared says.

Misha frowns at him. “What?”

“I wrapped it up in my jacket and hid it before I rescued Jensen. A little insurance, just in case something went wrong and you caught me, too.”

Jensen smiles—can’t help it—and fuck he’s so proud of Jared right now.

“Well then we definitely don’t need him,” Misha says, moving to point the gun at Jensen.

Jared lashes out, spinning around so fast that Jensen can barely track him, one foot leaving the ground, then the other, first one flying past Misha’s face, second one kicking Misha in the face so hard that it sends him flying to the ground. Jared lands on the first foot, balancing as the other hits the ground, landing before Misha’s gun finishes skidding across rock and flies off the edge of the cliff. Jared spins again, and drops into a fighting stance.

Misha’s bleeding from the nose and mouth as he sits up, and he looks stunned—not from surprise but from the force of the kick. Jensen’s feeling a little stunned, himself. He had no _idea_ Jared could fight like that, not even after the kick Jared had given him to the chin. What Jared just did was the most superhuman shit Jensen’s ever seen.

Jensen starts to move for the gun still lying on the ground at the same time Misha does. Jared lashes out with a vicious kick, lower leg shooting out, foot catching Misha under the chin. The move snaps Misha’s head backward, but he reaches out, somehow managing to catch Jared’s calf between his hands, dragging Jared with him as he falls. Jared loses his balance, catching himself with his hands. Jensen rushes for the gun, but by the time it’s in his hands, Jared and Misha are grappling on the ground, rolling precariously close to the edge of the cliff, and Jensen can’t get a clear shot.

“Jared, get out of there,” he shouts.

Jared tries to punch Misha in the face, but Misha knocks the blow aside, so Jared rolls again, Misha on top for a second before he keeps rolling, hitting Misha in the chest with both hands. Misha falls away from Jared, lying on the very edge of the cliff. Jared leaps to his feet and Misha grabs Jared by the ankle, trying to pull himself up or pull Jared down, Jensen isn’t sure, and he still doesn’t have a clear shot. Jared kicks backward into Misha’s face, but it’s a glancing blow. 

Jensen can see what’s going to happen the split second before it does.

Misha falls over the edge of the cliff, still holding on to Jared’s ankle.

Jared’s sliding backward, reaching out for Jensen, Jensen rushing forward and falling to the ground, skidding on his stomach the last few feet, dropping the gun and grabbing for Jared with both hands.

He grabs hold of Jared’s hand, and it’s a precarious grip, weight of Jared and Misha combined pulling him closer to the edge of the cliff. He tries desperately to get some kind of toehold in the rock, but there isn’t anything, and his face is hanging over the edge of the cliff, Jared’s terrified eyes staring up into his. Misha’s dangling below him, holding on to Jared’s ankle with both hands locked in a death grip.

Jensen repositions his hands, getting a better grip on Jared with his left, and then he lets go with his right, reaching blindly backward, fingers trying to find the gun he’d dropped. His fingers catch on the edge of metal, just a bit beyond his reach. He stretches, grunting with the effort, fingertips just barely skating across the grip of the gun.

Jared’s hand is beginning to slip, and he grunts, redoubling the effort, fingers finally pulling the gun within reach. He grips it and stares down the length of Jared’s body to where Misha’s slowly swinging back and forth. Jared’s grip slips through his a little more and Jensen holds on for dear life, pleading, “Hang on Jared, please hang on.”

There’s a roaring sound in the distance, but he doesn’t have time to focus on that. He waits for Misha to swing back into view, precious seconds lost, Jared’s fingers slipping through his, and then Jensen sights him, aims the gun and pulls the trigger.

He can see the contents of Misha’s skull blow out the back of his head in a burst of crimson and bits of matter. His body goes slack, grip on Jared releasing, and then he’s falling through the air, dead body flipping end over end until it hits the rocks, stopping abruptly.

The roaring is getting louder, and the wind suddenly picks up, but Jensen’s barely paying attention, dropping the gun and grabbing Jared with both hands. “I’ve got you, Jared. Hang on.”

Even without the added weight of Misha, Jensen doesn’t have much leverage to pull Jared back up over the edge. He inches backward, painstakingly, struggling for every inch he gains, until finally he can see Jared’s head above the edge of the cliff. He lets his head drop back down, staring at the ground and tugs again with all his strength, muscles straining, trying to pull himself backward with his toes—

Jared’s hand slips through his in a sudden rush.

For a split second, Jensen is filled completely and utterly with horror and agony and loss, tears springing to his eyes—

And then he feels the grip of Jared’s other hand tighten on one of his wrists. He looks up and Jared’s there, still there, safe and sound, looking Jensen in the eye.

“Fuck, Jared.” Jensen can’t help it then, tears of relief escaping him. “God, I thought I lost you.”

Jared reaches out with the hand that had slipped away, and Jensen grabs it.

The wind is roaring now, whipping Jared’s hair around his face, and Jared says something, but Jensen can’t hear him. He understands a moment later when Jared begins to climb up his arms, using them like a ladder, and he must be getting some kind of traction with his feet, because he’s doing it a lot more easily than he should be able to.

It’s a long minute or so, Jared pulling himself upward, using Jensen’s body once he passes Jensen’s arms. Jensen lies there, sweating profusely, tears of relief still leaking from his eyes, and then Jared rolls off of him.

Jensen sits up and spins around, grabbing Jared by the shoulders and yanking him up against Jensen’s chest. Jensen crushes him tight, holding him there, and then suddenly there’s a bright light shining on them like a spotlight. He can’t hear anything but the roaring wind, and he turns his face, squinting against the light.

There’s a helicopter hovering next to the cliff. Jensen lets go of Jared, reaching for the gun when the light switches off. Someone jumps from the open door onto the cliff and Jensen levels the gun on them as the person kneels in front of them.

“Surprise motherfuckers,” Chad says, grinning at them.

Jensen and Jared both blink at him, uncomprehending.

“Fuckin’ A. I leave you guys alone for five minutes…” Chad trails off, shaking his head as he looks back and forth between them.

 

*

 

Chad had gone and gotten help, all right. He made so much noise about not waiting 24 hours, because Jared hadn’t answered his phone in three days and then also hadn’t shown up, that they’d given in after twelve hours. They’ve been searching all day and night in the area between the stop where Chad left them and the one where they were supposed to meet him.

With the help of a huge spotlight, it’s easy for Jared to retrieve the laptop from the formation of rocks he’d hidden it in. 

The helicopter delivers them to the port where they should have docked next. They’re still shaken, and Jensen’s face still hurts, but otherwise they’re fine.

At the hotel room, they shower separately and change clothes, Jensen borrowing from Chad. Hours pass as they talk to the police about what happened; before Chad will leave them alone in the hotel room he’d rented, going to rent himself another room. 

“And by the way, I’m leaving you here to fuck, because you two seriously need to get that over with.” He throws a grin over his shoulder. “Don’t disappoint me.”

Jensen and Jared are sitting together on the edge of the bed as the door closes behind Chad.

Jared shrugs his shoulders and then nods. “Yep. That’s my best friend,” he says, wry.

“I thought he was my best friend, now?”

“You want him?” Jared asks. 

“God no.”

Jared laughs, sliding up closer against Jensen’s side, lacing his fingers through Jensen’s and tilting his head against Jensen’s.

They sit like that for a few minutes in total silence, the whole experience beginning to settle in for Jensen now that everyone else is gone. All he can think about is how Jared’s hand had slipped, what he’d felt in that moment, how different life would be right now if Jared hadn’t been able to grab hold of him. Jensen feels it well up inside him all over again, threatening to spill over.

“Jared.” Jensen turns to look at Jared, reaching out to touch his cheek. “God, Jared. I thought I lost you. I thought I _failed_ you. I thought you were dead.”

“I know,” Jared answers quietly, turning to face Jensen. He leans in, lets his forehead rest against Jensen’s. “I _would_ have died, if it meant keeping you safe.”

“You dumbass,” Jensen whispers angrily. “That was supposed to be my job.”

“He was going to shoot you, Jensen.”

And Jensen knows. He knows it’s true. Misha was going to kill him, and Jensen wouldn’t have had time to do anything to stop him, because Misha had been about to pull the trigger when Jared moved. But that split second where he’d thought Jared was _gone_ … he isn’t sure if he’s ever going to be able to forget that feeling.

“I’m still here,” Jared says, voice gentle.

“I know,” Jensen nods.

He draws back from Jared’s forehead, and then tilts his face, leaning up at an angle, mouth meeting Jared’s. Jared reaches out, wraps his arms around Jensen and pulls Jensen’s body closer to his, kissing him languidly.

Jensen takes his time, kissing Jared thoroughly, hands touching Jared’s face, his shoulders, running through his hair, just feeling that he’s still here. Jared kissing him back so sweetly, great big, beautiful heart and Jensen can’t believe it belonged to him so many years ago—can’t believe he ever let it go.

“Jared,” Jensen whispers his name, pulling back, looking Jared in the eye. “That summer on the island… I think you loved me then.”

Jared swallows hard, nodding.

“Can you love me again, Jared?” Jensen asks, cupping Jared’s face between the palms of his hands. “Is that something you can do? After everything that’s happened, all these years?”

Jared’s eyes are filled with emotion. “Jensen,” Jared breathes, mouth curving in a smile. “I never stopped loving you. My whole life, I’ve never loved anyone else. Not like I love you.”

“Don’t,” Jensen pleads. “Don’t say that, because if you do…”

“It’s true,” Jared whispers.

 

_____

 

Jensen just looks at him for a moment, eyes wide, lips parted like he wants to speak but he doesn’t know what to say, and then Jensen’s mouth crashes into Jared’s, bruising him with the force of the kiss. Mouths opening, teeth clicking, chins turning, and Jared gets his hands on Jensen’s face, palms pressing against light stubble, and this is nothing like the first time; nothing slow burn or gentle and Jared feels want explode inside him like a supernova.

Jensen lets go of his hair, takes him by the shoulders and pushes him backward onto the bed, weight of him falling on top of Jared, kissing down into him, and fuck Jensen feels so good, the way he fits against Jared, muscular and firm and perfect. Hands fumbling to pull each other’s clothes off, neither of them wanting to stop kissing long enough to do it properly, until Jared’s lying naked on the bed, lips bruised with kissing, breathing out hard as he stares up at Jensen.

Jensen glides his tongue around Jared’s chest muscles, circling over his tight, hard nipples, Jared whispering Jensen’s name, fingers twining through the short strands of Jensen’s hair. Jensen kisses down Jared’s stomach, caressing every inch with his tongue, gliding out to the side, tongue tracing the line of Jared’s scar before he presses his lips against it.

“Maybe if I had realized I trusted you sooner, I would have come and found you. And things like this never would have happened.” Jensen presses another kiss to the mark. “Because I would have been there to stop them.”

Jared shivers, breathing out Jensen’s name.

Jensen sits up on his knees, naked from the waist up, eyes tracing every line and curve of Jared’s body as he unbuckles his belt. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers. “So fucking beautiful.”

Jensen unzips his jeans, pushes them down to his knees along with his boxers, perfectly sculpted and more gorgeous than Jared remembers, and then Jensen’s back on top of Jared, kicking out of his jeans and kissing Jared so hard and deep Jared can barely catch his breath. Pulling back, licking and kissing across the swell of Jensen’s lower lip, then surging to meet him, tongues twining, swirling, and fuck, he wants this, he wants it so much. He’s never wanted anything or anyone, more.

“So gorgeous,” Jared whispers, biting at Jensen’s lower lip. “Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“God, Jared.” Jensen’s eyes, dark with want, devouring Jared’s face.

“Want you so much,” Jared breathes. 

Jensen rocks his hips into Jared, velvety hot skin dragging up the length of Jared’s cock, and he shudders at the feel. 

“Jared, God,” gliding back down the length of Jared’s cock, words whispered out hot against his mouth, “Wanna be inside you. Wanna fuck you.”

Jared moans into Jensen’s mouth, cock twitching against Jensen’s, and he reaches out, grabbing awkwardly for his bag. Feels out the outside pocket and unzips it, hand digging inside until he comes up with a small box of condoms and a bottle of lube. “Please,” he whispers, hand shaking as he draws back from Jensen, holding up both for Jensen to see. “God, _please_ fuck me, Jensen. Please.”

Jensen stills for a moment, looking at what Jared’s holding and then at Jared’s face, and then he’s in motion, taking them from Jared, kissing, biting, licking his way down Jared’s neck, tongue trailing down to his nipple, taking the tiny nub between his lips, suckling at it, biting down until Jared hisses and twists against the bed, moaning. Gliding further down, licking down the line between Jared’s abs, lips just brushing against the head of his dick, breathing out hot, and Jared groans, hips straining up from the bed, and fuck, just the thought of Jensen’s perfect lips wrapped around his dick is almost enough to make him come then and there.

“Got myself off so many times that summer, imagining this,” Jared pants, feels Jensen hum against his skin in reply, and then Jensen slides lower, pushing Jared’s legs up on either side of his chest, exposing him completely, lips brushing the inside of one spread cheek.

“Did you imagine this, Jared?” Jensen asks, and Jared jolts at the sensation of Jensen’s breath against his hole. “The way I’m gonna tongue your pretty little hole wide open?”

Jared inhales sharply, feeling his stomach somersault inside him, wetness leaking from the tip of his cock, fingers digging into the bedsheets. “Yes,” he manages to hiss, and then Jensen licks him with the flat of his tongue, leaving the end of the word a mangled mess of sound.

Hands locked around the backs of Jared’s knees, holding him down, holding him still, tip of his tongue circling Jared, then breaching him, slick and wet and hot, pushing deeper, twisting and curling inside him, and fuck, Jensen-- _Jensen_ has his tongue buried inside Jared, taking him apart one second at a time and nothing could ever be hotter. He wants to thrust into the feel, but Jensen’s holding him tightly in place, making him take it until Jared’s a complete mess, writhing mindlessly against Jensen’s mouth, cock so hard it almost hurts, pre-come pooling on his belly.

“Fucking Christ, Jensen,” Jared breathes out in a rush of sound. “Please.” Jared isn’t even sure what he’s begging for, just knows he needs _something_.

Jensen lets go of him, then; pulls his tongue from Jared, licking around the rim, over-sensitized nerves sending a burst of intense pleasure through Jared, then gliding up the inside of his thigh, biting against sensitive skin, and Jared wants everything, wants it all, wants it right fucking _now_.

He isn’t prepared for Jensen’s lube slicked finger thrusting inside him, spine arching and stiffening as he gasps, Jensen’s mouth closing around the head of his cock and his brain implodes, pure static except for the sensation of Jensen inside and out, sucking down the length of his cock, finger crooking against his prostate.

Pleasure spiraling up from the base of his spine, from his cock, suffusing through him, and fuck, fuck, fuck, what is Jensen _doing with his tongue_ because Jared is inches from coming inside Jensen’s mouth.

He reaches down, fingers finding the curve of Jensen’s skull, tugging at the short length of his hair. “God—fuck—don’t—gonna—”

Jensen sucks up the length of his cock, tongue swirling over the slit, and then he pulls away, middle finger sliding inside Jared alongside the first, pushing deep inside, fingertips stroking his prostate, and Jared shudders, bucks his hips against Jensen’s hand, and Jensen is going to drive him completely, certifiably insane.

“Jesus, Jared, so hot,” Jensen whispers out against the head of his cock, and Jared is going to _die_.

“Fuck…” Jared gasps, Jensen’s fingertips dragging down the inside of him, almost to the rim, shivering as he drives himself down on them, head thrown back, eyes clenching shut at the way it feels. “Fuck me, Jensen.”

“Shhhh,” Jensen breathes out, air rushing over the head of Jared’s dick, fingers brushing against that spot inside him, sending sparks rushing all through him. “I could watch you fall apart like this for days. Every expression on your face… just like I always imagined.”

“Ungh. Imagine,” Jared breathes rocking into the arch of Jensen’s fingers, “how I’d look, ungh,” fucking down into Jensen’s hand, “if you were fucking me.”

“I can’t wait to see,” Jensen whispers, licking a stripe up the center of Jared’s cock, fingertips rolling against his prostate, Jared pushing into the sensation, every muscle in him contracting and releasing, and then there’s nothing—Jensen pulling out of him and he whimpers with need, feeling empty.

Jensen’s mouth falling against his, biting his lower lip, surging down into him, and then his hands are on Jared’s shoulders, slick cock pressing up against him, tip parting him, pushing just inside, mouth melting against Jared’s, and all Jared can think—all he can manage to say, is “Fuck yes.”

Jensen thrusts his hips, filling Jared, and Jared’s head falls back against the pillows, lungs gasping for air. Jensen chases after him, kissing him slow and sweet, hips drawing back, arching to hit that spot inside Jared on the way back in, and Jared can barely hold on to him, lost in how good it is, how it’s better than he’d ever imagined. He’d jerked off to this fantasy more times than he can count, but Jensen _inside_ him, fucking him hard and deep, it’s all he’s ever wanted.

“I never should have left you,” Jensen breathes, twisting his hips, Jared shuddering . “Never…” he whispers, releasing, licking the skin smooth. “I should have stayed with you.” Jensen’s hand tightens on Jared’s shoulder, hips falling forward, sinking deep, eyes fluttering closed. “I wanted to.” Body rocking into Jared, Jared’s hands clinging to him, pulling him in tight and hard. 

“Jensen…” His voice is husky, everything he feels for Jensen wound up in the syllables. Jensen’s eyes are wide, clear green, and Jared can see everything in them.

“I loved you,” Jensen gasps, thrusts with his hips and catches Jared’s mouth, swallows the sound Jared makes against Jensen’s words. “I do love you,” he whispers, grips Jared’s hip hard with his hand and shoves.

Jared’s heart seems to stop beating for an instant, staring wide-eyed at Jensen.

“I’ve always loved you,” Jensen breathes.

“Jensen.” It’s the only word Jared can form, the only word that encompasses everything Jensen is, everything Jensen means to him. Wrapped up in two, tiny syllables, and they mean more than he’s ever said. Even more than the breathless words that follow. “I love you.”

“I know.”

Mouth searing hot against Jared’s, body driving into him, he feels so fucking good Jared feels like he’s going to come apart inside his skin.

“Jensen.” His name is a ragged breath torn from Jared’s chest. And fuck, Jensen’s so much hotter than he’d ever expected—so beautiful, so intense, hands sweeping up under the back of his knees, mouth devouring his, cock drilling into him so hard he can’t think.

Jared pinned against the bed, his cock untouched except for the friction of Jensen’s belly, the way Jensen moves against him and even _that_ is so hot, feels so amazing.

“God, Jensen, I’m gonna—”

“Fuck yeah,” Jensen breathes. “Come for me, Jared. Come for me while I’m fucking you.”

Fingers closing around his cock, squeezing to the crown, Jared’s whole body clenching down from chest to belly, Jensen inside him, filling him, thrusting in and out, hitting every sweet spot on the way down, and fuck he’s going to come so hard—can’t stop it, couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to. 

“Jensen,” Jared breathes, cock pulsing out pearly streaks against his belly, slicking the way between Jensen’s fingers, wet, hot, slippery mess, body contracting around Jensen’s cock, and fuck Jensen’s so absolutely fucking _perfect_ , thrusting inside him, Jared biting down on his own lower lip, shivering and shuddering and writhing, coming all over Jensen’s stomach.

“So,” Jensen breathes, hips shoving, “fucking,” all rhythm lost, “hot.”

Jensen thrusts hard, sinking deep and holding, whole body stiffening, nails digging into Jared’s shoulders as he comes.

Their bodies twitch with aftershocks, tangled and twisted up in each other, both of them breathing hard, Jensen’s face resting in the crook of Jared’s neck; kissing the thin skin over Jared’s pulse. Jensen lifts his hand, placing his palm over Jared’s heart, and then he lifts his face, pressing a kiss to Jared’s lips.

“I can’t believe we’re here, together after all this time,” Jared says, and Jensen smiles, looking at him.

“It only took eight years for me to figure out how much I love you.”

Eight years apart and it doesn’t matter. They found each other again.

“Better late than never,” Jared grins.

Jensen chuckles and kisses him again.

 

*

 

Jensen’s asleep against his chest when Jared reaches for his pack, finding the worn edges of paper after a moment, pulling it from his bag.

He opens it slowly, one-handed.

It’s a goodbye letter from eight years ago. It’s a thank you he meant to give Jensen, to be read when Jensen was on the ferry or on the plane after he left the island. It’s a goodbye letter that says, thank you for being part of my life, and I love you. I’ll always love you.

The first time Jared had ever loved anyone; the only time he’d loved someone like _that_.

The first time he’d said “I love you”, even in written word.

He’d never gotten the chance to give it to Jensen, Jensen gone a day too early.

He’d brought it on this trip as a reminder. An eight year old letter he might still be able to talk about, maybe even give to Jensen, one day, to let him know, what he’d meant, what he’s always meant.

He’d kept it, a tangible reminder of that summer. Of what he’d had, what he’d lost. 

Jensen stirs against his chest. “What are you reading?”

Jensen here, sleepy against him, right now, and this part of their past has passed.

Jared crumples the letter into a ball between his fingers, tossing it into the motel trashcan. 

“Nothing,” he smiles, kissing Jensen’s forehead.

 

 

 

 

 

**EPILOGUE**

It takes a while before Jared can present his findings to the EPA in Alaska. Action doesn’t happen all at once, they have to confirm Jared’s findings, but when they do, the shit hits the fan.

Jensen works on rebuilding Serenity for months, and Jared stays, helps him. Jared decides to focus his efforts as a marine biologist in Alaska permanently, and when Jensen goes back to work doing tours, they live on the boat together.

The first time Jared sees the inside of Jensen’s cabin, he stops, looking around. Jensen doesn’t have nearly as much room in his quarters as he did in the room at the Sea Horse, but there are as many bits as he could fit in, books crammed into a shelf, rope work still hanging on the ceiling, shells and pieces of smooth glass and stone lining the shelf along the edge of his bed.

“You still have your collection,” Jared breathes out, and then turns to face Jensen. “I thought… after everything that happened, you might have thrown it away.”

“There are some things I could never let go of,” Jensen says, and kisses him.

 

*

 

A few months after that, Jared convinces Jensen to start going to therapy, and after a while it actually seems to help. 

He drinks less and cares more. He talks more to strangers, shares more of himself. Occasionally he even has fun outside of being sarcastic.

And Jared’s the most amazing and wonderful support he could ever ask for; happy when Jensen seems happy and comfortable around other people, happy being alone with Jensen when Jensen isn’t.

Jensen couldn’t ask to be more loved. Doesn’t think he could love Jared more than he does.

 

*

 

It’s been a year and a half since Jared came back into his life when Jensen pulls him close in their bed, and says, “I’ve decided I’m going to finish school.”

Jared’s eyes go wide and then he kisses Jensen full on the mouth.

“I’ll have to see about getting loans since I don’t have the money--”

“Jensen,” Jared says cutting him off. “I’m rich, remember?”

“I can’t let you do that,” Jensen says, shaking his head.

“Jensen… I wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for you. I would’ve gone over the edge of that cliff and died. You’ve done so much for me… taught me so much... saved my life. I am who I am, because you’ve been part of my life.”

“Jared…” Jensen shakes his head, “it’s not like you haven’t done all the same things for me. Who I am now… if you hadn’t come back into my life…”

“I know,” Jared whispers. “But Jensen… everything you’ve done for me… do you regret any of it? Did you do any of it in the interest of being fair? Or did you do it because you wanted to?”

Jensen purses his lips, and then sighs, because there’s no way he can win that argument. “Because I wanted to,” he admits.

“You want to get your PhD; I want to help you do it. Our relationship isn’t a series of checks and balances, Jensen.” Jared leans in, kisses him gently. “Let me help you. Please.”

Jensen presses his lips together, and it’s difficult, even now, to accept help, even from Jared—less difficult with Jared, but still difficult. He knows Jared genuinely just wants to help, that Jared will never think Jensen owes him anything for it. He knows it’s not a debt he’ll owe. He knows it’s a gift, given out of love. But all he can say is, “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay. Take your time.”

 

*

 

Four years since Jared’s been back in his life, and they’re docked in a slip on a tropical island, side by side in the common area, heads leaning against each other as they review the data they’d collected together. They’re studying the mating habits of reef fish, Jared right next to him, his arm across Jensen’s lap, their fingers entwined, wedding bands nudging together, and there’s nowhere else in the world Jensen would rather be.

Jensen still keeps his survival gear on hand, because he’ll never forget what he’s been through, and there will always be the Misha’s in the world. But there’s also _them_ \--

Dr. Padalecki and Dr. Ackles working together. Saving the world, saving marine life, saving people. One mission at a time.

Twelve years later and Jensen feels like he’s where he was always meant to be.

He feels loved. He feels at peace. 

Feels something even more than that; something he’d never thought he’d feel again. 

He feels _safe_.

Jared cranes his neck, turning to look at him, catches him smiling, and Jensen leans to kiss him.

 

FINIS

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the_stowaway for giving me the initial idea for this story and for her incredible boat knowledge, and to dimpled_sammy for helping me with various ideas. I couldn't have done this without either of you!
> 
> Last but not least, thank you amber1960 for all of your amazing artwork! Thank you for going above and beyond the call and drawing even more at the end! I loved everything you did!
> 
> Everyone please go admire her artwork and leave her an amazing comment for all her hard work here.
> 
> And thank all of you for reading along <3 I love you all.


End file.
